#‘he merely respected it’ someone makes the sign of the cross and he tosses a hobo bindle over his shoulder and sadly trudges away

[zisurru]

louis is mentioned briefly and i realize i have no idea where the fuck he is. where the fuck is ANYONE

#blood canticle #‘he merely respected it’ someone makes the sign of the cross and he tosses a hobo bindle over his shoulder and sadly trudges away

[lunarw0rks]

*groveling on the floor* nice simon

pleeaase anything w big sweet man simon 😭🩵

ugh… you know what's been on my mind lately?? neighbor!au with all my favorite men - but especially simon! here are some of my thots;

he's so... awkward and off-putting. in the sweetest way. like a stray dog that's only allowed to bite you. neighbor!simon, who's the perfect coresident. rarely home, and if he is, you don't even notice! except for those awkward elevator rides...

obviously, simon being the most vehement introvert, does his best to avoid him. but it's a shady apartment building. things happen; maintenance or rowdy visitors blocking the stairway. so sometimes it's easier to suffer thirty seconds of agonizing silence.

there was you. across the hall from the strange, intimidating man. it's difficult not to be frightened, especially when his way of communicating is through grim eye contact, or god forbid a deep sigh when you accidentally bump into him.

neighbor!simon is never upset with you, though. grumpy is merely his default :( for many reasons. but he always feels awful when you give him that anxious look or go out of your way to make space for him in the narrow hall.

it's not every day he meets someone like you, quiet and respectful of his boundaries. let alone live next to. so... he began to make peace his own way. taking advantage of him always being up at dawn; salting the pavement by your patio to ensure your safe commute to work. cleaning up the stack of mail that the courier tossed at your box, tucking it in neatly.

aaaand eventually moves on to more outgoing gestures. knocking on your door, two little taps with his knuckle. asking if you heard "that noise" outside, purely to make sure you were alright. partially his overthinking getting the better of him, also a cheeky move on his part to see your face.

finds a way to learn more about you, even when you're at your most bashful. typically, when he's caught you in your nightclothes, all pampered and ready for bed. next to him, you feel ridiculous, as if he's not wearing the most basic athleisure.

sometimes neighbor!simon will lean against the entrance of the building, watching cars and listening to the city noise. but he isn't out there for fun. in his mind he's waiting on someone; you. when he hears the creak of the rickety door opening, his posture becomes even straighter than usual.

"bloody cold out here, isn't it?" his gruff voice murmurs, breath visible with every word. months ago, the presence would've startled you. but you'd grown used to his very predictable, unpredictable routine of running into you.

you sigh out your words, rubbing your icy fingers together. no gloves, he notices, but doesn't acknowledge. "why aren't you inside, simon? place is pretty cozy if you look past the water damage."

simon scoffs, "i like the cold," he places his hands into his pockets and reaches for the door handle. "y' workin' today, love?" he inquires, despite noticing your work bag slung over your shoulder.

you mutter an unenthusiastic 'yes', exhaustion evident in your features. it's too damn early for you to be out and about, struggling to make ends meet.

he hums to himself as he walks away, waiting until your figure disappears before crossing the street. he's on his way to the nearest shop.

that evening, when you return to your flat with dragging feet, there's no sign of neighbor!simon. out front, out back, or in the hall. only sign of life is the flickering lamp peaking under the gap of his front door. frankly, you're too exhausted to think about it much.

you raise your key to the lock, stepping forward when it gives way. something blocks your foot, nearly sending you tumbling forward. you peer down at the quaint gift box, nearly embarrassed at the tumble it gave you. proves that your post-work tunnel vision is no joke.

curiously, you examine it. no fancy wrapping paper, plain cardboard. and in place of the ribbon is some decorative twine, halfway decently tied into the shape of a bow. with a gentle tug, you release it and take off the lid. the aroma of cardboard is stronger now, as well as a spritz of a very familiar cologne.

gloves; knitted and coordinated to match your winter jacket. you smile to yourself, taking one last look at simon's door behind you, just as he shuts off the lamp for the night, the spotty yellow glow ceasing.

waiting on you to get home safe, no matter how late. of course, there's a price tag on them. he's not that showy, or crafty. anything he'd try to knit would end up a crumpled slab of yarn.

stepping inside your flat, you set your things down on the counter and run your finger over the soft, thick material. you can already picture the relief these will be on your walk, no longer clocking in with stiff, frozen fingers. new winterwear was on your list for months, but you're notoriously bad at gifting yourself nice — basic — things. and apparently, it shows.

the hollow box rattles when you set it down, as do your keys. finally, you slip them on, thinking of all the days you passed your neighbor simon. never knowing how observant he could be, in the sweetest way.

and they're a perfect fit, of course.

#neighbor!simon #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost x you #simon riley headcanons #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #mw3 #rachel speaks

[thran-duils]

Key to the Garden (P.1)

Title: Key to the Garden (Part One) Summary: Dark!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Witch Reader (main pairing), but on the side, Dark!Tony Stark x Reader, Dark!Sam Wilson x Reader, Dark!Zemo x Reader. Y/N lives in one of the many fringe covens with her family along with a few other small families that did not want to be roped into the powerhouse coven community, Shield, ran by the Maximoff, Stark, Wilson, and Zemo witch and warlock legacies. Y/N’s grandmother had a run in with the coven community in her youth and she is mostly mum about the incident, but makes it clear that Y/N should stay as far away as she can from them. But when the Shield community discovers where their community is and demands they send someone to teach at their school for upcoming magical beings with threats and when it is demanded that someone from the Y/L/N family be the volunteer, Y/N does not resist to make sure no one else is subjected to them, much to her grandmother’s dismay. Little does Y/N know that a particular head in the community had been searching for them for a very long time and she is going to satisfy a very, very long held grudge. Word Count: 1,893  Warnings (more may be added): Non-con, dub-con, emotional manipulation, imprisonment, orgy, forced pregnancy, death, violence, 18+

Introduction || Part Two || Masterpost mobile || Fanfic masterpost

Your grandmother grasped your hand tightly as you told the soldiers you would go with them in her stead. Your grandmother had foolishly thought that you would allow her to go from the coven to the Shield Academy, the place she had warned you about since you were able to walk. Locking eyes, you saw the terror in her eyes and guilt washed over knowing you were making her feel that. But you were also doing this for her so she did not have to go. She deserved to be able to relax in her old age and live out her days protected in your coven. You had decades upon decades ahead of you.

Tearing your hand from hers, you told her, “Be well. The willow rejuvenates.”

Tears that had been gathering at the corners of her eyes spilled over as she saw you turn away, being guided into the carriage to take you away.

<><><>

Wanda came down the spiral, stone stairs from her tower in a rush. The servants of the academy went against the wall when they saw her coming, backs straight, giving her a deep bow. The hallway was at least fifteen feet across, more than enough space, but it was done out of respect and custom. They would be berated if they walked past her or any of the other leaders. The custom was not bestowed upon merely the teachers.

Turning the corner to face a flight of stairs, she spotted Sam waiting at the bottom. He was waiting for her having known she had been up in her tower for the better part of the morning.

“Heard that they’re back with two carriages from the other covens,” Sam said to Wanda, falling into side beside her as she walked.

“I didn’t see a second, but I saw the one,” Wanda replied.

“Was it who you were hoping? Was it Elena?”

“No.”

Sam’s face screwed up in confusion and said, “Well, maybe they screwed up.”

“They didn’t,” Wanda said clipped, which only served to confuse him more. She sensed his bewilderment and she offered tightly, “I know she’s from the right coven. It was like I was seeing a ghost when she came out of the carriage.”

Sam ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, contemplating as they turned a corner towards the front door. The students in the hall parted seeing two of their leaders, giving them curt bows that Sam and Wanda ignored in turn. Much like with the servants, they were not equals to their leaders.

In quieter tones, Sam asked, “Well, do you think she is going to be able to provide the same—”

“I’m not sure, Sam,” Wanda cut in sharply, an air of annoyance about her.

She was high strung, that much was clear to Sam. She had been ever since she had figured out where Elena was and sent their soldiers out to retrieve someone from the coven, preferably Elena. Wanda had given instructions to suggest her, wanting Elena to make the decision on her own because she knew how altruistic Elena was. She wanted Elena to choose to come back to her, even if it was through unscrupulous means.

The other leaders of the academy – Sam, Tony, and Helmut – knew of the shared past with Elena and Wanda. She had not shared the finer details of their relationship past they had worked together, but Wanda knew the men were not daft – they could discern the intimacy that Wanda and Elena had shared. Had shared… before Elena pulled away, taking her power and just as important, her affection with her, leaving Wanda alone.

When Wanda stepped down into the entrance hall and was faced with this woman, she felt her skin was on fire. All the past touches, and late nights wrapped in each other’s arms came rushing back to her. It took everything in her to not stride forward and encompass the woman to her as if she was coming back from a long journey and was finally back home safe. Wanda only outwardly flinched in her fingers in her inner turmoil.

The young woman’s features were even more strikingly similar to Elena up close. A picturesque witch that threatened from the moment Wanda laid eyes on her to drag her under her spell. Wanda’s lips parted, feeling as if her breath was stolen from her. She was stronger than this, she need not fall under this woman’s spell. But her nose, her lips, the hair… it all tugged at Wanda. The eyes were different though. That may be for the better, Wanda thought to herself. It would help her to prevent herself from confusing the two completely and allowing her past feelings to overtake her in the presence of this woman.

Behind the woman trailed a Cross fox that was curiously looking around the entrance hall. Wanda admired the coloring of it. Its face and legs were black, with trails of black throughout the rest of its orange fur. It was sleek, its eyes piercing. She would need to be careful around this creature.

The woman came closer to Sam and Wanda, reading the signs from the surrounding guard that they were the people she needed to be greeting with how they were standing erect and leaving them their space. She smiled warmly and Wanda felt a pang. The smile was so similar to the one Elena used to give her lovingly.

“Thank you for the comfortable carriage,” the woman said in an even tone.

Wanda saw past the civility though; she was not happy she was collected and taken away. And that was only prodding gently at her mind because she was unable to penetrate further. Wanda’s jaw ticked; Elena had certainly trained her family against mind manipulation; she was going to be unable to capitalize on that. The girl had a solid wall up and all Wanda could do was scratch at the surface.

She gave a curt bow and Wanda gave a tight lipped smile in return. Sam was ever careful about his reactions, gauging what he should do depending on Wanda. Sam bowed his head in acknowledgment towards the girl.

“Your name?” Wanda asked.

“Y/N.”

Wanda savored the way the name would roll off her tongue, her mind flashing to whispering the name in late night corridors, beckoning her to her chambers.

“I’m Wanda. This is Sam. We are two of the four leaders at the school. The others – Tony and Helmut – you’ll meet later at dinner. Along with the other teachers of course.”

“Pleasured. I’ve heard a lot about the reputation of this school. I sadly never attended due to the nature of my coven.”

“Every coven has their own rules, and we respect that.” That was a lie. Wanda wanted every coven under her rule, but it served her now to lie. “You must be tired. Can they gather your things, and you can come inside to have us show you to your quarters?”

Y/N patted her thigh and ordered, “Ember.” The fox came to her side and sat down obediently.

“An impressive choice for a familiar,” Sam told her. “Not very conspicuous to have one trotting after you.”

With an amused smile, Y/N told him, “Oh, she is not a familiar. She’s my pet. My familiar Nyx is somewhere. My cat. She took off as soon as I opened the door, but she will come back. Is that frowned upon?”

“No, familiars are allowed to roam as long as they don’t cause trouble,” Sam answered.

“I promise she won’t. I’m not expecting danger here.”

She was calculated that much Wanda was gathering right now. That last sentence especially was insinuating she was on her toes with the flash in her eyes, ready for them to betray her.

Wanda gestured towards the front door, “We can give a brief tour on the way to your rooms. They’ll bring your things, don’t worry about that.”

Y/N walked forward, the fox following behind. Wanda was taking note the fox looked extremely protective of Y/N. She would soon have to figure out how to separate them or gain the fox’s trust. The latter seemed more likely if she played her cards right.

On the way to her rooms, a long-haired white cat came running up the hall and came to stride in front of them, tossing looks over its shoulder at Y/N, Wanda, and Sam.

Wanda’s brow furrowed; she had never seen this cat before. And that is when she realized it was Y/N’s familiar. The cat was leveling Wanda with a hard gaze even in its brief glances at both her and Sam; it did not trust them, She could sense that.

Playing it cool, Wanda gave a little chuckle, catching Y/N’s attention.

“You named a white cat Nyx,” Wanda commented, amused. “You’ll need a sense of humor around here.”

<><><>

After settling Y/N into her chambers, Wanda had brought Sam away to go towards the south tower where Tony and Helmut were prepping for the spring equinox. Spell bags were scattered along the table, ones they would hand out to select students and allow them to cast them themselves to they could bring renewal to the academy.

Tony caught sight of them entering and noticed her demeanor. “What’s going on?”

“The new recruits we sent for are here.”

“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?” Helmut questioned, a layer of confusion in his tone at Wanda’s stiffness.

Wanda grabbed a handful of jasmine petals from the stone bowl at the end of the room, heading towards the alter. “We are still going to need a sacrifice. Maybe a handful until she gets on board.”

Tony shrugged, “We were expecting that. But light at the end of the tunnel. With Elena here now, you’ll have to work less eventually.”

“She’s not here,” Wanda clipped, her body stiff with her frustration.

Tony’s brow furrowed, “What?”

“She didn’t come.” It sounded like it was difficult for her to admit that. Like she had personally failed.

“Then what is going on?” Helmut asked, taking a step forward towards her away from where he was prepping.

She held a hand up and he stopped. His eyes flicked to her palms, knowing what she was capable of. The three men were powerful, but they could not hold a candle to her if they took her on on their own.

“The plan is going forward as we planned.”

“How without Elena?” Tony asked, sounding short of patience now.

“I have her blood still.”

“Did you go drain her?” Tony asked, his tone getting tighter, breeching on sarcastic. He was an impatient person and had little room for the appetite to put up with people toying with him.

“No,” Wanda said dismissively, walking past them to go throw her petals into the alter for good fortune and protection.

Sam came up beside Tony and Helmut, hands in his pockets. Out the corner of his mouth he said, “The granddaughter came. Wanda is in a tizzy. She expected a crone, and she got the fertile, spitting image.” Tony and Helmut both were heedful at the mention of fertile and Sam did not miss it, a smirk breaking out. Finally turning his head, he met Tony’s eyes and then Helmut’s briefly each before walking forward and grabbing the jasmine petals to offer.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney  @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl @namjoonwatcheshentai 

Fic tags: @ivybarns 

#dark!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dark!tony stark #dark!sam wilson #dark!helmut zemo #dark!baron zemo #dark marvel #my shit #tony stark x reader #sam wilson x reader #baron zemo x reader

[bigskydreaming]

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go. 

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there’s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you. 

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her  themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome. 

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily. 

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did. 

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking  his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame. 

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later. 

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

[beomglocks]

soob become human ; c.sb

pairing: android!soobin x police detective!y/n

plot: your job is fairly simple, find out the cause of the recent surges of deviancy in androids. the only problem is that you hate androids, but it’s ok because you have a newly appointed partner and- oh wait he’s an android. 

w/c: 6.3K (this took me longer than it should have)

warnings & other:  enemies(?) to lovers(?), enemies (?) to less hated enemies, based off detroit become human, lots of swearing, android!soobin, human!y/n, blood, dead people, a crime scene is described but not in too much detail, soobin is definetly not a deviant, y/n hates soobin and pretty much all androids, y/n is kinda an ass to soobin, semi slow burn, open ended

you were seething with rage though you somehow managed to contain it. you wanted to hold it in long enough to really explode when you walked into your boss's office. you tramp past the receptionist in the lobby and don't even smile at her. you never do since she's not even a human. you hate how she's programmed to sit idly with an eerie smile on her face and welcome guests.

"hey y/n!" you hear your friend, hueningkai, shout at you. you wonder how he can be so loud and full of energy after 5 hours of working at his desk but you keep marching on, not acknowledging his greeting.

you have your eyes set out on your boss's office and the fire in your eyes is set alight when you notice him sitting at his desk peacefully. thank god, for the see-through box offices cyberlife installed last year.

he notices your figure striding up angrily towards his office and you see him sigh. good, at least he knows what's he's in for! you march up the stairs with your head held high because you were really about to give him a piece of your mind right now.

you stop just at the edge of his desk and rummage through your crossbody bag for something. it takes you a while which is embarrassing since he just sits there looking at you expectantly. "ah," you pull out a crumpled up piece of paper, which you yourself crumbled up out of anger, and slam it harshly on his desk.

"excuse me but what the fuck is this?"

he glances down at the paper and back up at you with a bored expression. "that's a piece of paper y/n." you chuckle bitterly and place your hands on your hips. "i'm talking about the contents of the paper sir."

you watch him open up the paper gingerly and skim over the words printed. "oh yeah," he crumbles the paper again tossing it into the bin. he sighs heavily getting in his serious work position with his hands crossed in front of him. he's a big burly kind of guy so it always somewhat intimidates you when he does this.

"we're getting weekly reports of androids going haywire. everyday i've gotta deal with a new report. i'm not talking the usual malfunction and spilling coffee. this is homicides and assaults. just last night a woman was murdered in cold blood by her android. this isn't cyberlife's problem anymore, these are criminals now."

you stay quiet, taking in what he's saying. "regarding the contents of the paper, i want you to investigate them." you clench your fists and narrow your eyes at him. "why me?" you burst after a moment of letting your anger rise again. you realize you sound like a child whose just gotten told they have to dishes while their sibling goofs off but you don't care.

"i'm the least qualified person to handle these cases plus i've got other shit to worry about! i don't want to deal with those pieces of junk!"

the chief office stands up, eyeing you sternly. now you've done it. "y/n don't piss me off. you know you're the most qualified so don't start with that bullshit. i don't wanna hear any complaints out of you." he doesn't raise his voice and that kind of alarms you but you press on.

"no! you know that no one else in this goddamn precinct wants to deal with these androids so of course, you left me to pick up the dog shit!"

"watch your tone detective," he seethes. he sighs heavily trying to regain himself before he really bursts a vessel. he cozies back into his desk chair and rubs his temples. you, on the other hand, are breathing heavily and pacing back and forth. you can't believe he would put you on an android case of all things.

you were seriously being relieved of all other duties to investigate a bunch of ones and zeros. but that wasn't even the best part.

"i'm assigning you a partner to assist you in the investigation."

you stop in your tracks, eyes widening. "hell fucking no!" you rage. you march back up to his desk and lean over the edge. "chief i always ride solo. ever since i joined i've always been alone and have been doing just fine! i don't need help!"

"y/n i think i've had enough of your bitching and whining. i don't care that you're the best worker in this fucking precinct. if you don't like the circumstances you can hand in your badge right this instant. otherwise, shut your fucking mouth and get back to work," he says through gritted teeth.

you scoff in his face and as you walk out of his office you flip him off. "that's going on your track record detective!" he says matter of factly.

"shove it up yo-"

you sigh as you enter your office. "fuuuuuuuck," you groan. you look around and notice that there's a tiny replica of your desk on the other side of your office. you can only assume it's meant for your partner. the sudden urge to destroy it and throw everything across the room crosses your mind but you decide against it.

having a partner assigned to you was a jab at your pride. everyone knew you as the detective who never needed one, the lone wolf if you will. if anyone saw you being assisted they would immediately think that the position of "best officer" was up for grabs, when it wasn't.

you didn't wanna be that person but of course, you held that title over everyone's head.

you huff, throwing yourself onto your chair which causes it to spin around. you don't even know this supposed partner of yours. most likely for a good reason too. you can only imagine your reaction if the chief had presented your new partner right then and there. a firm knock on your door startles you, "come in," you mumble. you're really not in the mood to entertain any of your work friends so you hope this is quick.

you look at the figure standing idly by the frame of the door. he's tall with a three-piece suit on. he's oddly handsome with little to no flaws which is suspicious to you. his hair is dark with hints of blue peeking out and it's pushed back to show his forehead. the stark contrast of his dark hair and fair skin makes him look very pale and almost sick. he has some files in his hands and his face is stoic, almost emotionless but not stern. he looks boyish.

what you don't notice is the ring of light located on his temple since it blends in so well with his skin. "how many times do i have to tell people that complaints are sent next door to hueningkai, god i really need to get a sign or some shit," you groan rubbing your face in frustration. you lower your hands and the person is still there.

"hello, my name is choi soobin. i'm the android sent by cyberlife to assist you with your detective duties," he states monotonously as if he's reading from a script.

the gears in your head churn for a while but once the words process you groan once again and roll your eyes to the back of your head, "why am i not surprised that chief would fuck me over even more like this. of course my partner is a fucking andriod." soobin steps completely into your office shutting the door behind him. "are you y/n?" he asks politely.

"un-fucking-fortunately."

"nice to meet you!" he seemingly ignores your sarcastic comment and your wonder if he even knows what sarcasm is. "i hope we can be good partners. i have already received the files on our first case together, here they are," he places the files on your desk and you can only look up at him in disgust.

"well you're a well-trained dog arent you?" you mumble. "y/n with all due respect i am not a dog. im an android designed by cyberlife to merely assist with certain tasks and finish my mission. i'm one of the most advanced of my kind." you look at the tag on his suit: KR900. you sigh, nodding, "got it got it, now if you'll excuse me, it's time for my daily nap so scram."

you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. man, if soobin was gonna be your partner you'd have to extend nap time by at least 30 minutes. you wonder if you can get away with adding another hour to your naptime.

you hear someone clearing their throat beside you. you hope that if you keep your eyes closed they'll get the hint to leave you alone. after about a minute the person speaks up, "y/n we should probably start with the case as soon as possible." great, soobin.

you open your eyes to glare at him. "listen, soobin? was it? go fuck yourself ok?" you close your eyes again and fold your arms over your chest. god, soobin's already being a nuisance. you're not sure if whatever this is is going to work out.

he stays silent for a moment and you wonder if he can feel the feeling of frustration. you hope he can because he might be able to get a sense of how you felt towards this whole situation. you start to drift when you feel an odd warmth radiating on the side of your face.

"with all due respect detective. i've been assigned to this mission and i intend to carry it out and complete it to the very end. i'm not going to sit around and wait for you to simply 'feel like it'."

your eyes fly open and you stare at him bewilderedly. he's very close to your face and his expression is stony but of course, he still has that boyish look.

you stand up, frowning at him. "let's get one thing very straight, tin can." you shove your finger into his chest which strangely doesn't feel too much like hard metal. "i call the shots around here so i won't be taking orders from a walking computer. i don't give a damn if you're leagues smarter than me, piss me off one more time and i won't hesitate to deactivate you myself."

you step away from him and he doesn't seem affected. he simply brushes his suit off. you scoff, grabbing your keys from your desk. "by the way i already know where the crime scene is so try to catch up next time, puppy."

when you both arrive at the crime scene there's already a plethora of police with their hound dogs and the yellow barricade tape is being set up. this must've been a pretty brutal scene for there to be this many people dispatched to this location. you're not surprised that there's people here and there trying to get a sneak peek at what might've happened.

"y/n! y/n!" you hear someone frantically yelling out your name.

you look around and see yeonjun, another police detective who's not from your unit, running up to you. he engulfs you into a bear hug, letting his trenchcoat pick up from the wind. you smile for what feels like the first time today, "hey yeonjun." once upon a time you liked choi yeonjun, you still do in a way. he was always on top of his game which you admired and you two would always compete when it came to cases. he was unbelievably smart so he probably knew about your little crush on him. if he did, he never addressed it and still treated you like a close friend.

"it's weird seeing you at the scene so early, we're just finishing setting up the yellow tape," he smiles at you but you can see his confusion. you were known to be late to these scenes but somehow still did well and always cracked the case. you didn't like to be around all the other police and detectives when you were in the zone.

"chief assigned me a new partner who insisted i arrive accordingly," you roll your eyes playfully to mask the annoyance. you don't bother to introduce soobin, who had been standing behind you silently this whole time, because he introduces himself. "hello, my name is choi soobin. i'm the android sent by cyberlife to assist y/n with their detective duties," he says monotonously.

yeonjun stares at soobin with an impressed look, "woah, chief got you a robot? he must love you" he jokes. "love me? this is a shit way of showing it," you mumble.

"y/n ever the comedian," yeonjun laughs deeply. you smile shyly at him. "i guess..anyways what's the scene looking like?" yeonjun leans back on the barricade looking back at the house you have yet to enter.

"looks like another case of deviancy to me," he sucks his teeth in thought. "man these androids are really going haywire these days, killing their owners, assaulting them, or just simply running off. seems like some kind of uprising? the machines seem to be rebelling," he glances at soobin who is already looking at him.

yeonjun chuckles lowly and leans down towards your ear subtly. "be careful ok?" he leans back up and stretches his arms. "trust me i know," you mutter. you both smile at each other and he winks at you. "well i'm off to do my own sleuthing! let me know if you find anything, you always do after all."

you watch him jog off and sigh to yourself. you turn to soobin, "right, let's get on with it." before he can take another step forward you stop him in his tracks. "and don't get in my way." soobin nods but stays silent. "i'm gonna need a verbal answer," you really don't care if he answers you or not you just want to annoy him. "i will do what i need to, to complete my mission," he looks at you with a weird glint in his eye and you kinda hate him even more now.

you roll your eyes and walk through the door of the house you're meant to be investigating. the smell of booze and musk smacks you in the face and you have to physically hold back the bile rising up your throat. "

"man whoever lived here was a pig!" you gag. you look back at soobin who has a neutral but curious face. "right you can't actually smell things," you mumble. you grab the collar of your jacket and cover the bottom half of your face with it.

as you walk deeper into the house you start to really see what went down. glass covers pretty much the entirety of the floor from a window near the tv. the tv is busted and there's writings on the wall. you look around the living room and that's actually when you discover the body.

it seems to have been there for a couple of days now since there's maggots hovering over it. the man's face is beaten badly and blood runs down it onto his tattered shirt. he's slumped over and there's blood on the wall that states 'we are alive'.

"jesus christ," you mumble to no one in particular. you watch soobin hunch over the body and dip his finger into the blood on the wall near it. he's about to bring it near his mouth but you stop him. "god what the fuck are you doing!" you think the bile you were holding back is really about to come out and you're scared you'll ruin the crime scene.

he looks back at you with an unreadable expression. "im analyzing the blood." he turns his back to you again takes a lap of the blood. "you're fucking gross," you chastise.

"the blood is from the victim," he finalizes. "damn his android must've really wanted to make a statement here. 'we are alive'? what do you think that means?" you ask him.

soobin stands up straight again, looking around the flat, "deviancy of course. judging by the looks of it, this wasn't a very habitable place. the android must've gotten fed up and rebelled against its owner." he thinks to himself. "this shouldn't be happening, it must be some kind of virus because androids were only meant to serve, they shouldn't have to capability to harm much less kill."

you sigh, already hating where this case and the mission overall is going. "let's just look around for clues. i doubt the android could've gotten far, it must feel guilty or something."

soobin shakes his head, "androids don't feel y/n." you raise your brow at his statement, "one does not simply kill another being without feeling. an emotion or feeling of some sort is triggered which causes someone to act out in this way."

you walk away to the kitchen to look for clues there but soobin just stands there watching you. he frowns but joins you minutes later.

after about a half hour of looking for any clues, you've managed to gain a lot of evidence with soobin's help. there had been a struggle in the kitchen which led to the living room where the place of death was determined. soobin described the altercation as very brutal for both parties.

"so where's the android?" you ask after his explanation. "it's near," he mumbles. he surveys the room once again and spots something. you watch him do the same procedure he had done with the victim's blood. "there's nothing there," you say skeptically.

"it's android blood, or blue blood as you humans call it. not visible to the human eye but any android can spot it from a mile away."

when he's done he looks around once again and follows a sort of trail. he stops near the attic door and sighs. he pulls it open with caution and you can only wonder what he's up to.

he peeks in then hoists himself up into it. "wha-" "stay here," he demands. "hey what did i sa-"

before you can scold him he's already in the attic and slammed the door in your face. "didn't know androids had a prick feature," you mutter.

after 5 minutes you start to hear noises of struggling and things falling over. "soobin?" you shout. "what's going on up there?" you don't actually care if he's ok or not but one scratch on him and you'll be paying the damages.

he doesn't answer, instead, the struggling comes to a halt. you jump as he slams open the attic door. you give him a once over and it doesn't look like he has any scratches on him so you sigh to yourself gratefully. looking down you see an android wriggling in handcuffs, you assume it's the murderer. "i got him," soobin huffs.

"y/n? you in h- woah," yeonjun breathes out. he looks over the both of you then at the android on the ground near soobin. "damn." you nod, agreeing with his one-word statement. soobin folds his arms looking down at the android. the android is rightfully glaring back up at him. "he was hiding up there, probably thought no one would find him. well, no human would've at least."

"we should take it back to the station for questioning. the more info we get out of it, the closer we are to figuring out the cause of this 'deviancy'," yeonjun concludes. you nod, turning to soobin, "good job puppy." he makes a face but accepts your praise either way.

after finalizing your first deviant case, you decided to ask yeonjun out for burgers two days later as a celebratory measure. he had told you he was going to be busy filing some other cases so you opted for going alone. alone is not entirely true since soobin was required to be around you at pretty much all times.

"stay in the car," you ordered. "not happening. im required to assist you at all times," he states matter of factly. you lean your head on the steering wheel. "god you are so up my ass it's annoying."

"listen if i say do something you do it. you're an android so you follow my orders got that?" you narrow your eyes at him as if to challenge him. he simply looks back at you with that boyish curious look and says nothing.

you hate how he looks like a puppy who knows you're hiding a treat behind your back.

you sigh, getting out of the already parked car. you slam the door roughly in what you hope to be soobin's face to make a point but you hear a door close right after yours. you turn around to see soobin standing outside of the passenger's side where he was seated.

"oh fuck off!" you shout exasperatedly.

you stomp over to the burger cart and shove past someone who's already there. "hey watch it!" they shout. "shut up im a cop," you bite back. you don't even bother turning around to the person because you could care less but their voice comes back. "y/n?"

you perk up at your name and turn around, "oh shit frankie!" your smile grows and you hold your hand out for a handshake but frankie goes in for an uncomfortable hug that you weren't expecting. you laugh nervously as he hugs you for longer than intended. he reeks of red dust, a newly manufactured drug in town. the only recognize it is because, well, you've tried it.

"hahah ooook franks," you try to wriggle from his tight hold on you but he doesn't budge. "i slipped a little something for you sweet cheeks," he murmurs into your ear. you shiver from the sudden close proximity but nod nonetheless.

"is there a problem here?" soobin states. he easily towers over frankie since taking drugs for a long time has ruined frankie's growth spurt. he's by no means short however soobin is winning in height by a long shot.

frankie chuckles lowly, "we're fine robocop." he rolls his eyes at soobin and turns back to you, "so anyw-"

"y/n we should be on our way," soobin narrows his eyes at you and you don't take it as a question. you're not scared of soobin however he's pretty much unmatched when it comes down to it.

"right," you say slowly. you glance between frankie and soobin and they both seem to be in a bit of a staring contest. "come on puppy," you nudge him.

"have a nice day," soobin says firmly. "whatever, damn androids," you hear frankie mumble. you sigh as you both reach a stray table near the truck. you open the wrapper, uninterested in everything else at the moment until soobin clears his throat.

"drugs?"

"what about them?" you mumble through a mouthful of burger. "you just got drugs from that guy," soobin leans on the table staring at you directly in the eye. you sigh dramatically, throwing your hamburger back into the wrapper. "leave me alone ok? if you're gonna lecture me i can assure you, i don't want it."

you pick your burger up again hoping that soobin will just shut the fuck up for the rest of the day. he really has a way of putting you in a sour mood. you wonder for a moment how long you'll have to be working with him. if you can just figure out the cause of deviancy then this little arrangement will be over before you know it.

from that point on, soobin simply watches you eat. it's a bit uncomfortable, to say the least, but at least he's silent. you want to question him as to why he's watching you so intently but you also don't feel like chatting with him. "did you ever expect to be living among androids y/n?" soobin speaks up after a while. you smirk at his question, "you're living among us, ok? and no, i never saw it coming." you feel bitter about his question.

of course, you never expected it. you never thought you'd see the day where an android is running the hotdog stand down the street. you never expected a robot to be doing your job. "you fucking androids are a curse," you mumble. soobin says nothing at that.

the ringing of your phone cuts through your little moment. you sigh, rummaging through your pocket for it. groaning, you reluctantly answer the call. "what's up boss."

after a couple minutes of briefing, you hang up. soobin looks at you expectantly while you throw out your trash. "we got another one, pretty close to where we are. no one else is on duty near us so we'll be on our own for this one."

you brush past him, walking back to the car, "think you can handle it puppy?" you don't expect him to answer but you're surprised when he retorts with his own witty remark.

"i'm practically designed too."

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head, "alright alright let's go."

once you arrive at the apartment complex where the deviant is supposedly located, you stop soobin right at the door. you stare up at him with a stern look in your eye, "remember what i said, no getting in my way and no telling me what to do. remember that i'm also your superior."

a part of you feels like you don't necessarily have to tell him these things since he probably stored that information from the first case. however, you want to feel power over him. you don't care if soobin is an android, you'd be damned if he felt like he was superior to you just because you were a human and he was a robot.

"i will do what is needed for me to complete my mission," he states. you roll your eyes at the answer he opts for but nonetheless continue onward. "we gotta be careful here, we don't actually know if the deviant is armed."

"you got sent any info on the guy?" you ask. soobin sighs, "the only thing we know about him is that he's a deviant. the people living on the floor below claimed they were hearing strange noises but supposedly no one has lived here for years."

you chuckle to yourself, "yeah it sure looks like it." you look around, taking in the beat-up state of the hallway. it's dimly lit and the walls are tattered and torn. there are boarded-up doors and the floor almost looked like it would give in with anymore added weight. yeah, there definitely hadn't been anyone inhabiting this floor in a while.

you lean on the door frame as you watch soobin knock on the door as a normal would but no one answers. "is anyone in there?" he shouts. you both wait for a moment but again no one answers. you sigh, shaking your head. "move."

soobin steps out of your way hastily and moves to stand behind you. you swiftly take your gun from it's holster on your hip and shoot the door handle. the handle flies off and just like that the door creeks open. you'll admit there might've been a more suave way of doing it that didn't involve much noise, however you wanted to get this over with.

you motion for soobin to trail after you into the apartment. you both slowly inch into the flat and you peek your head in to check if anyone is inside. when you confirm there's no one in the apartment you both walk in cautiously. the place is completely torn apart. there are bird feathers all over the place and the walls have odd writings on them. you sigh walking up to one of the walls, "we are alive."

soobin shakes his head but says nothing. "let's check the other rooms in this place," you propose. you both split up to look for clues about the deviant which gives you time to think.

soobin goes to snoop around in the closet while you head to the bathroom of the apartment. the sink is riddled with bird feathers and bird shit. you hold your breath as you look around the small room. the place definitely hasn't been kept up by anyone in a long time. "ra9?" you mumble. you lean closer to the wall to inspect the odd writing. it's not just written once or twice, it's scattered all over the wall. "what the fuck does that even mean."

before you can even begin to infer, soobin walks into the bathroom. "i think i found something." you sigh looking up at him, "what is it."

he leads you back into the living room and points to a birdcage on the floor. "this must be what caused that noise that the people on the other floor sent complaints about." he paces around the room for a moment. "i should be able to reconstruct what may have happened, that way we can know where the deviant went."

you watch silently as he walks back to the birdcage. he stays still for a moment then proceeds to look around the room in all directions. "see anything?" you ask.

he doesn't answer, much like last time he simply stands up and walks towards an opening in the roof. soobin slowly reaches his hand up to it but someone jumps out at him.

soobin is effectively knocked to the ground and you stand there shocked. you were really not expecting anyone to be up there. you shout in alarm and the deviant is alerted instantly. before you can reach your gun, the deviant haphazardly pulls a gun of its own from is pocket.

it's clearly not skilled in holding a gun since androids aren't allowed to bear arms. you can tell it's not sure where to shoot and it's scared. you can feel the cold metal of your gun graze your fingers but you stay still as you hear a gunshot pierce the air.

your eyes widen as they follow the deviant run out of the apartment. "SOOBIN GO," you shout. you're not sure why you're telling him to chase after it when you can do it yourself but you feel like you can't move. you suddenly feel yourself collapse on the ground, letting out a strangled yell. "FUCK!"

"Y/N?" you hear soobin shout. for some reason everything is hazy and all you're hearing is white noise. you think you yell at soobin to chase after the deviant again but even in your hazy state, you can't quite tell. after a couple more seconds of struggling to comprehend what's going on, you finally pass out.

you shift around, looking for a comfortable position on the couch. you're not sure why you're on a couch but you're not complaining. it feels like forever since you've felt like you've had a chance to rest for a moment. you're starting to really get sick and tired of androids. before all of this, all you did was either sit on your ass all day or go around helping the elderly or bust your local neighborhood scum. you seriously couldn't believe how much your life could change in just the span of a couple of days.

speaking of change, soobin was going to have to go. he's a pretty capable partner however, you both clashed too much. granted you haven't given him much of a chance. you just hated the concept of having a partner, much less an android partner.

you suddenly feel something cold press onto your leg. you hiss out in pain but when you try to move your leg the pain gets worse. "you shouldn't move," you hear a voice say. you furrow your brows because you're sure you live alone.

you peel your eyes open and see what looks to be soobin standing over you. "soobin?" after the name registers in your head your eyes widen and you try to sit up but the pain in your leg keeps you in place, "what the fuck are you doing in my house?"

soobin calmly takes a seat on the seat opposite from you. you study his body language and face. if you didn't know any better you say he seems a bit distressed. you want to laugh at yourself for thinking that because there's no way an android can know what distress feels like. he seriously looks like he's racking his brain to figure out what to say first.

"you got shot," he opts for. your mouth falls open, looking down at your leg. almost as if on cue, you start to feel immense pain shoot through your body. "fuck fuck fuck!" you yell. soobin rushes up to press the ice pack down on the bandaged wound.

"don't fucking touch me!" you yell at him. he flinches back but you don't notice because you're too busy trying to dissolve the pain. you breathe in and out. you wouldn't say you've never gotten shot before but no bullet has ever successfully hit you. you've only been grazed here and there but it was rare since no one is allowed to really carry guns besides cops.

after doing your breathing exercise for a couple of minutes, you finally bite back the pain. "what happened to the android?" you grit out. you hope getting shot was worth it, you hope the bastard that shot you in rusting in his cell. soobin sighs, "we lost it. it's completely my fault. i should've chased after it."

"you didn't chase after it?" you're not sure if you sound surprised or angry but soobin looks up at you like a scolded puppy. the alarms in your brain are blaring right now. why did soobin ignore the mission? he was supposedly always supposed to complete his mission no matter what. surely he didn't ignore the mission simply because you collapsed from a leg shot. you think about the subtle warning yeonjun gave you back when you had your first deviant case.

"seems like some kind of uprising? the machines seem to be rebelling."

soobin isn't- he's not a deviant is he? you can't really remember if he's been defective this whole time or if he's the best actor you ever met. you look up at him suspiciously and he shifts his gaze subtly when you make eye contact.

"it's been 4 days since your injury. yeonjun came by a couple of times to check up on you," you see his fists tighten at that. something may have happened between them while you were out. you know yeonjun can be a bit overprotective over you at times, even when he knew the job was dangerous.

"the chief says its best to lay low for a couple of days until you get better so that's what we're doing," he continues. you stay quiet. you're not exactly sure what to say. you don't know if calling him out will anger him or something.

you both stay quiet for so long that you start to think soobin may have gone into hibernation mode or something but when you look up at him he's staring directly at you. you sigh, "what is it this time puppy."

he stares at you for a little while longer before answering, "why don't you like androids?" you should've known this question would come up but damn why'd he have to ask it right now. why do you hate androids? one just shot at you a couple of days ago and left you unable to work.

"it's' because you're all nuisances," you mumble. he looks down at his hands and you have to remind yourself that if you're right, he somehow has feelings now.

you groan, "you all are supposed to be perfect! better versions of us humans! i guess you just fail when we put too much trust in you." you sigh, you don't expect soobin to understand since you're being too vague.

he sits, waiting patiently for you to continue. "someone close to me passed away a long time ago. i don't really expect you to understand what grief is," you chuckle bitterly. you look around the room in silence. you don't really want to cry right now so you take a deep breath.

"the doctor was out, probably fucking around i don't know. they had an android do the job. they didn't make it because the android failed to do it's task." you shake your head. "yeonjun was there for me at the time, which im grateful for. i probably would've singlehandedly destroyed all androids myself if he wasn't there."

soobin looks at you with that same curious boyish look and it makes you want to hit him. he's so annoying even when he's not doing anything. "y/n im sorry," he says.

"yeah you should be. the deviant got away because of you," you mumble. you both sit in silence again until you decide to speak up again. something in you wants to thank him for not leaving you behind but you also don't want to break character.

this is too new to you. you've never really had a partner, only ever going out into the field with yeonjun. even then, whenever either of you got hurt it was never as awkward as this. you sigh, "at least you didn't leave me behind." is the best you can come up with.

soobin looks up at you again with a hopeful look in his eyes and it makes you hate how alive he looks. if he was really a deviant you'd have to tread lightly with him. you're not sure if he's plotting against you or what his goal is but you've gotta start being more careful around him.

"y/n i look forward to working with you more," he says lightly.

for now though, for now, this will have to do.

#choi soobin #soobin #soobin imagines #fluff #soobin reactions #soobin drabbles #soobin drabble #soobin fluff #txt imagines #drabble #tomorrow x together imagines #txt headcannons #soobin headcannons #txt reactions #txt scenarios #soobin timestamps #soobin fic #soobin x reader

[takemyopenheart]

Waiting (part 1 of 3)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey and f!MC (Luz Beltrán) | Category: angst | Rating: M | Warnings: implied s e x and depression | Word Count: 1.8k | Ao3 link | Part 2 | Part 3

summary: Ethan and Luz grapple with the decisions made that may alter the future of their relationship. Takes place between book 1 and 2.

The memory of her body in such intimate proximity still lingered. The smell of her hair, her soft caresses on his chest as they lay spent, the enticing way she curled up beneath his arms.

He curses himself for dredging up such thoughts again. But he can’t be rid of them no matter how hard he tries. They invade his mind. It’s like a bittersweet curse he can’t break. His grip tightens around the nearly empty glass of scotch and wishes the cold glass was replaced by the warmth of her soft hand. He takes another swig, letting the rich smokiness coat his throat.

With a sigh, he rests his head back against the armchair, keeping his eyes wide open to keep the image of those chocolate brown eyes he’s come to know so well—and love—at bay.

Love.

He groans again. As much as he likes controlling every aspect of his life, nothing could prepare him for the unexpected impact Luz would have on his life, much less opening up his heart and inevitably falling for her and letting all the walls he’d built up crumble.

He should’ve stayed away. The thought stings because he knows he doesn’t mean it. Any ounce of regret immediately washes away when he thinks of the happy moments they’ve shared, none of which he regrets. Never did he ever expect someone to affect him the way that she did. She was there during the most turbulent times in his life when he had no one.

Dolores was relying on his expertise, and she was taken away so unfairly, leaving a child behind. A child Luz refused to leave on his own. It took Ethan a while to understand that not only was she there for baby Ethan while he fought for his life, but she was also there for Ethan while he was struggling to fight for a life.

His biggest fear was losing the only other person he cared about. Watching his mentor Naveen struggle for his life affected him deeply. But he had to be there for his friend and got right into finding whatever it was that was causing his debilitating illness. He hardly slept. He hardly allowed himself to feel. Naveen needed him. He was his only salvation, until she appeared and refused to leave their side.

Overtime, her presence became his comfort and lifeline. As much as he tried closing his heart to her, she won it in the end. Had it not been for her...he can’t even bear the thought.

The quiet stillness which surrounds him does nothing to ease his flurried mind, it merely aids in providing the perfect atmosphere in which he can still hear her voice, her laugh, every whisper of her soothing voice.

His eyes shut, and he sucks in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs. His flight leaves in a few hours. He forces his eyes open when a thought seeps into his brain again—a cycle he’s found himself stuck in. He glances down at the coffee table where his phone lays, and two words echoe in an endless haunting loop—call her.

He knows he owes her that much, but his stubborn nature prevents him from reaching for it. His arms feel heavy, as if the weight of the turmoil he finds himself in weighs them down, preventing him from dialing the phone number he’s memorized from the moment he first dialed it. Her voice is just a phone call away, and his throat closes at the thought.

The last they spoke had been Friday, but the professional distance was there, due to the fact that he was back to being her attending. And soon, she would take her place on the diagnostics team, with Ethan being her direct supervisor. He stopped receiving her texts, unless they had to do with work. It seemed she, too, was doing everything in her power to move on. Though he knew it was the right thing, he couldn’t fill that piece that was back to being the missing part of his life.

There’s a sudden ping. Ethan’s head whips to the source of the sound and finally picks up his phone. Everything’s forgotten in that instant, and he hopes to see her name displayed on the screen. He adjusts his eyes to the brightness, only to read a notification that his ride has arrived.

He feels the urge to toss it against the wall, to let the frustration seeping into him out. He sighs deeply, and before he knows it, the glass in his hand is chucked across the room where it smashes into small fragments on the living room floor and around the packed luggage sitting beside the front door.

This is what must be done, for her own sake. He can’t hinder her professional development with whatever it is they have—had, as much as it pains him to take that step. Her career must come before anything.

The forbidden fruit is always the sweetest.

And he must go before he’s tempted again. He has to.

Two weeks later

His stubbled jaw scratches its way down her neck, lavishing her skin with open-mouthed kisses. She feels his rough hand make its way down her exposed skin, tickling her in the best way possible. He laughs softly in her ear when she begins guiding his hand toward the part that begs for his touch. It’s a laugh so deep and alluring, she wishes that sound to stretch on and on and on...

Her eyes flutter open as she jolts awake in her bed. Her heart thumps a quick rhythm as she looks at the empty cold space beside her, the only body warmth her own. She’s pulled out of the reverie, letting her heart feel that familiar ache its grown used to.

She checks the time on her phone—6:16 am. At least she got four hours of sleep this time, she thinks to herself. She can’t miss the next step of what’s become her daily morning routine. She looks at the screen for any sign of him, any message to let her know he’s okay and that he’s thinking of her. But the pang of hurt hits her again as she stares at the empty screen.

Of course he isn’t thinking of her. He’s moved on. She forces her feet to keep her going and prepare for another full day of distractions—anything to overpower the lingering sound and smell of him.

She keeps her curtains closed, she doesn’t feel like letting the sunshine in.

Her feet sluggishly carry her toward the kitchen to make herself a cup of black coffee. She isn’t surprised to find Elijah and Sienna already in the kitchen. They’ve been her support system these past few weeks. They’re still the only ones who know the truth about her and Ethan. It’s an alleviating sight to wake up from dreams about him and find them there to offer her company.

A lone empty mug sits on the countertop, and when they look over to see her approaching, Sienna fills it with the steamy caffeinated beverage. She throws them a smile and takes her seat on the kitchen stool as they prepare their breakfast.

"Have some pancakes, Luz. Or some eggs and toast," Elijah encourages her with a warm smile on his face, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares back at her desolate-filled expression.

"I’m okay. Thanks for the coffee, though," she simply says and takes the mug in her hands to take a sip. It burns her tongue, and she flinches.

"Careful, Luz, it’s still hot," Sienna warns her too late.

"I’m all right, don’t worry."

Sienna and Elijah share a concerned look. They can’t help but worry. The brightness and vivaciousness has dimmed in their best friend since he left. It was an entire week before they learned he left for the Amazon with the W.H.O. It was like Ethan to join in on fighting an epidemic, and she didn’t fault him for that. It was an incredibly brave thing to do.

She’d followed his wishes for them to resume their professional working relationship. No longer did he look at her the way he used to. Steadily, he began to revert back to being the closed-off man she first met. It pained her, but she had to respect this is what he wanted. But deep in her heart, she knew he still cared for her, which is why it hurt her that he’d decided to leave her wondering where he was. She left a message after the first few days she hadn’t heard from him, only for it to be left unanswered.

No one had any idea where he was until Naveen shared the news. By then it was too late to try to reach him, and she couldn’t help but think that was why he delayed in sharing his whereabouts. His phone was no longer in service. She had no way of hearing his voice.

Some part of her knew he was running away from her—from everything they left behind, and she felt selfish every time that thought crossed her mind. It was no longer about her. And that was a clear enough message.

She sips the last of the coffee and steps off the kitchen stool. "I’m going to go for a walk."

"Want some company?" Sienna asks with hope in her eyes.

Luz knows she can’t go on like this. She shouldn’t let her life revolve around one emotionally unavailable man, but she can’t help what her heart still feels for him. She’s going to have to accept the fact that she can’t have everything she wants. She’ll live with the memories they shared. And she hopes that’ll be enough.

Her breath hitches as she remembers the last kiss they shared. She shakes her head to be rid of the flashing thought and looks up to meet Sienna’s eyes. "You know what? Sure. I could use friends right now. But first, let’s eat breakfast."

She and Elijah brighten up at the response. "Good. Because boy, are we going to get up to some fun today! It’s a promise." Elijah grins and places a plate in front of her. His face becomes serious, and he gently pats Luz’s arm. "We’re here for you."

Luz musters a smile. "I know. Thanks, guys. It means a lot. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"But don’t keep it all inside," Sienna interrupts. "When you’re ready to talk about it, we’re open ears."

"Yeah. What Sienna said."

Luz feels tears brimming in her eyes because for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel totally alone. She won’t be as long as her friends are there. There’s always light at the end of the tunnel. It just may take some time to reach it. And that’s okay.

•

Note: For an added dose of angst, listen to Waiting by Alice Boman. Major Ethan leaving for the Amazon vibes.

•

@openheartfanfics

I haven’t been tagging anyone in these since they’re from my old blog, but if you still wish to be tagged in my reposts, let me know😊

#ethan ramsey #open heart #playchoices #Ethan x Luz #old fic from deleted blog

[moonflowerlesbians]

count your blessings instead of sheep

Hello, friends! Back in November, I decided to partake in my first fandom Secret Santa exchange. I’m not much of an artist, so I opted for the holiday-themed fic route, and this one-shot was born. So, @satelitesprite I hope you enjoy, and Merry Christmas! Thank you so much to @damiesecretsanta​ for organizing. 

Read this work on AO3.

Title: count your blessings instead of sheep, Rated T, Word Count: 4763

Summary: In which Dani takes Jamie's White Christmas comment a bit too seriously. (But Jamie's absolutely not complaining.)

~~~

One day at a time, they’d said. Jamie had looked at her so earnestly, spoken with such conviction, as if by sheer force of will she would bend the world, stacked so vehemently against them, to her whims. And, Dani supposes, she may as well have succeeded. They’re still here, after all. Still together. Still alive.

Jamie had said something else, too, that same day. A confession she’d admitted almost shamefully. A film about honoring memories and protecting what matters. A sight she’d like to see.

Dani gets to thinking, planning, scheming, if one could call it that. She makes a silent promise, to Jamie and then herself.

If they make it until December, Vermont is as good a place to spend the holidays as anywhere, she thinks.

Dani can’t seem to stop moving. The cuticle on her thumb is raw and bitten; her legs, one crossed over the other, bounce, bumping the tray table in front of her on occasion and nearly sending her drink toppling into her lap. She all but leaps out of her seat when Jamie places a hand on her knee.

“Easy, there,” Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Tremble any more and you’ll disrupt radio frequencies.”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, but Dani appreciates it nonetheless. The little notebook in her breast pocket burns a hole in her blouse, stuffed full of ideas and anticipatory hope.

“Might be able to help if you told me where we’re headed.”

She’s been trying for weeks to nose her way into Dani’s plans, to glean some inkling of direction since Dani first hinted, one quiet evening in early November, that maybe thinking about Christmas isn’t such a bad idea.

“Yeah?” Jamie had said, soft, not quite believing. The future, their future, had been a taboo topic, danced around like an active bomb.

“Yeah,” Dani confirmed, “trust me?”

“‘Course.”

Then it had been library visits and guidebooks and scribbling telephone numbers on lined pages and Jamie-don’t-you-dare-open-that-box.

Dani rocks with the gentle movement of the train beneath her as it rounds a bend in the tracks.

“Whatever happened to the fun of not knowing?” Dani tries for a tease but falls somewhere just short of playground wedding jitters. A little confused and perhaps regretting her choices. She clears her throat. “I just,” she sighs, “I want you to have a good time.”

Jamie scoffs. “Ah, well, you know how difficult I am to please. Such high standards and all.” She gestures to the tray table between them, littered with snack-sized pretzel packets and a can of seltzer to share.

Dani rolls her eyes. “The picture of refinement.” Jamie pops her shirt collar with a huff and a wry smile that earn her a playful kick to the shin, and she pouts. “Still not telling you.”

Jamie retracts her lower lip, her ploy failed. “Should’ve known I wouldn’t get you to crack on the last day. A steel trap, you are.”

Dani snorts at the obvious exaggeration. They both know just a lingering stare from Jamie has her weak at the knees.

She can’t say she’s complaining.

On the subject of their trip, though, she has managed to keep impressively silent, offering only such vague clues as, “Thoughts on the desert?” and “D’you suppose four thousand is too much if it’s a room with a balcony?” At latter of which, Jamie had gone slightly pale, but she had declared, albeit shakily, something along the lines of, “whatever makes you happy,” as she blanched.

And, oh, how Dani had loved her for it.

As the temperate trees outside their window turn to evergreens and the cold trickles in from the mountains, it becomes abundantly clear that Dani has not brought them to the desert. Just one more stop until theirs, and Dani can’t help the flash of worry that streaks through her like lightning.

She’s a perfectionist by nature. Or, at least, she was. Likes her ducks in a row, likes her trains on time and her schedules stuck to. These past months have been agony, each day a guessing game, no way to be sure what will come next. She understands the necessity, has tried to embrace it, even, but when the opportunity presented itself for her to plan something concrete, she leapt at it.

Jamie had stepped back, understanding how badly Dani needed this. A part of her, she told Dani, late in the night, wrapped in blankets and sweet embraces, was simply glad Dani could bear to think of the future, even short term.

When they left Bly, Dani would not allow herself to entertain the thought of next week, much less next year. But, as time slid past with no sign of her co-inhabitant, she relaxed, millimeter by millimeter, drop by drop, the tension slipped from her body. The paranoia, the jolt of terror upon rounding a corner, looking into a mirror, faded gradually each time she saw only herself, one eye brown, one blue.

Each day with Jamie pervaded her idea of “normal” until that is what their life became. Normal. Waking up together, seeking out breakfast, exchanging quips before setting about their adventure of the day felt...normal. A remarkable concept for the woman whose notion of normal shattered with a pair of glasses.

She sits across from the woman she thinks of as her best friend and marvels at how different her life was, even just a year ago, when the sentiment of a Christmas with someone she loves was unfathomable. She can only hope Jamie doesn’t hate it.

Jamie, who is folding the tray up and sweeping crumbs into her palm to dispose of, only to realize she has nowhere to put them. She looks around for a moment, mumbles a shit to herself, and stands to toss them in the bin in the restroom, while Dani watches affectionately.

“What?” Jamie says, when she returns, gathering her things.

“Didn’t think that one all the way through, did you?” Dani says, a little smug. It’s not really a question.

“You said one more stop, yeah? Thought we should be ready.”

“Eager?”

“You’re having a go at me,” she rags, “Been building this up for a month. Can’t blame a woman for being a wee bit curious.”

A conductor wanders past, loudly announcing the next stop.

“Vermont, eh?” Jamie wraps the strap of her bag around her hand once, twice. She’s nervous, too, Dani realizes. The unpredictability has taken a toll on her, as well. Jamie, who woke up at five-thirty like clockwork, who tended to the same plants on the same grounds with the same tools, who saw the same five people each day. She likes routine, just as Dani does.

Perhaps, should they make it to the new year, it’s time to find a place to plant themselves. A place to call their own, if Jamie will have her. Somewhere to land. The thought sends a thrill through her.

Dani nods. “Trust me?”

Jamie studies her. “Always.”

Dani collects her belongings from the overhead as the train slows to a creaking stop at the platform. They appear to be the only two disembarking. Unsurprising, really. From Dani’s research, the town’s population is in the low thousands. The station, a one-story, low building, is rustic, all exposed wood and lantern lighting fixtures.

“Clayton?” An older man calls as they step off the train. He leans against the hood of a town car emblazoned with the logo of his proprietor.

Holiday Inn, Est. 1942

“That’s me,” Dani chirps, meeting him halfway from the tracks, where he takes the bags from her arms with an amiable nod. Jamie follows him to the trunk -- boot, as she insists it’s called -- and drops her rucksack next to Dani’s, while Dani, herself, opens the door with a grand flourish. “M’lady.”

Jamie sends the driver a sidelong glance, but he slides into the front seat without a word. She accepts Dani’s invitation and turns to her once they settle a respectable distance apart on the back bench. The driver, Wallace, as he introduces himself, turns the key in the ignition.

“So, the Holiday Inn?” Jamie prods. “Wasn’t aware the big hotels did shuttle services now.”

“Not a hotel,” Dani corrects.

“No?”

“An inn.”

“Ah, thanks, love, that clears it right up,” Jamie deadpans, but there’s no bite to her words.

“Hold your horses,” Dani placates, “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Can’t feel my bloody hands, been holding these damn horses so long.”

Dani swats her across the stomach. “Quiet, you.”

“Oi, ‘s no way to start a holiday, is it?”

“So, what brings you across the pond?” Wallace cuts in, the car rounding a bend on its climb up the mountain. “We don’t get many Brits around here.”

Jamie looks to Dani, a smirk curling upon her lips. “Not entirely sure, actually. You want to take this one, Poppins?”

“She hasn’t been stateside since we were kids,” Dani supplies. “I thought it might be a nice change of pace to spend the holidays with my cousin since it’s been so long.” Then, muttering to only Jamie, “She’s more sarcastic than I remember.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. You know, I haven’t been overseas since the war. Can’t bring myself to fly these days.” He continues to regale them with stories of his time in France, and they allow his tales to fill the silence for the duration of the ride, Dani offering polite interjections wherever appropriate. This is, in part, a way to keep Jamie from asking questions and spoiling the surprise mere moments from its fulfillment.

They turn onto a narrow road lined with towering fir trees. Undisturbed snow from a recent bout of winter weather bows the branches. Jamie watches out the window, transfixed by the changing landscape. Dani cannot see her face.

“Here we are,” Wallace says, with a note of pride. “She needs a little work, but she’s home.”

A house comes into sight as the car crests a hill, a three-story colonial with a broad front porch and white trim. Rocking chairs perch near the railings, and pale blue shutters frame tall windows. An old barn stands a little ways down, weather-worn, but charming.

Dani hears a quick inhalation from beside her. Jamie’s gaze is fixed straight ahead. Dani’s stomach flips.

Their car pulls up in front of the lodge, and Wallace grabs their bags from the rear.

“We’ll be just a sec,” Dani says.

Jamie’s back is to her as she turns in a slow circle, absorbing the scenery, until her eyes come to rest on Dani, who fidgets with the nail on her index finger.

“So,” she begins, “I, um, I know we said we’d take it slow. But, you said snow could be nice, and you’ve done so much for me, and I just wanted to give you this one thing, but I get it if it’s too much or too cold. I just thought, you know, it might be nice since you said you saw White Christmas as a kid that one time, and I know it was probably a joke, but--”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, with a saccharine laugh and the most gentle smile, “love, not to interrupt what was shaping up to be quite the eloquent speech, but this,” she gestures at the picturesque cabin and the trees and the mountainside, “this, you didn’t have to do all of this.” She looks around hesitantly, then takes one of Dani’s hands in her own. “I almost forgot I mentioned that story, but, apparently, you didn’t.”

Dani grins sheepishly.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jamie assures, “this is stunning. Everything I could’ve imagined. But, and I’m sure I’m starting to sound like a broken record, I would be just as happy spending Christmas in a shack under a bridge, so long as I’m sharing that shack with you.”

“I’d like to think this is at least a few steps up from a shack.”

“Oh, it most certainly is. Can’t say I’m mad about it, either. Quite fond of being warm, you know.”

“Speaking of,” Dani segues, “inside?”

“Please.”  

Dani drops her hand and leads Jamie up the porch steps, the old wood groaning underfoot.

“Dani Clayton?” A portly woman steps out from behind a counter.

“Present,” Dani says brightly.

“Anne,” the woman replies merrily, “I believe we spoke on the phone. Welcome, the both of you, to the Holiday Inn. Such a pleasure to host this little family reunion.”

Jamie appears perplexed for only a moment. “Jamie,” she greets, accepting the proffered handshake, “lovely to meet you.”

“Right, well, your room is up the stairs to the right, third door in.” Anne smooths her apron and passes Dani a key. “Wallace, my husband, should’ve dropped off any luggage, and please join us and the other guests for Christmas Eve dinner tonight, won’t you?”

“We’ll be there,” Dani promises.

“So, cousins, then?” Jamie prompts once Dani has inserted the key into their lock.

“I figured it was the easiest way to get around two women sleeping in the same room,” Dani says apologetically. “Family bonding, and all.”

“S’pose sisters wouldn’t have made sense with the accent.”

“We look nothing alike.” Dani shuts the door behind them. “Wouldn’t have been believable.” She flops unceremoniously onto one of the two double beds. The pale pink quilt wrinkles as Jamie sits, leaning back against the oak headboard. The windows are shut, but the off-white, lavender-printed curtains sway in an unfelt breeze, and a small fire crackles in the brick hearth. The sun is just beginning to set over the treetops, casting the room in a golden haze.

“‘S nice here,” Jamie remarks. “Feels familiar.”

“I, um, I may have picked this place because it looks like the one in the movie. Had them fax me images of the rooms to find one--”

“That looks like the one Betty and Judy shared in White Christmas,” Jamie finishes, noting the white doors and gleaming brass knobs.

“And, the inn, too. I tried to find out if we could go to the real one where they filmed, but turns out it was a set on a soundstage in California.”

“You mean to tell me the painted backdrops were just,” she gasps for dramatic effect, causing Dani to laugh, “painted backdrops?”

Dani groans. “In hindsight, it should’ve been more obvious, but at least I tried?”

“And an admirable effort it was,” Jamie chuckles, tugging Dani’s sleeve until she moves up the bed to lay her head on Jamie’s shoulder. “Looks just like the real thing, right down to my very own Judy.” She presses a kiss to the top of Dani’s head.

“Mm, I think you might just have a thing for blondes in turtlenecks.”

“Seven-year-old Jamie might’ve been a wee bit taken with Vera-Ellen,” Jamie shrugs. “Who’s to say?” She continues, “Not a lot of pretty blondes for me to fall for back in those days.”

“Oh, well, as long as she’s pretty,” Dani teases.

“Happen to like my version much better, thank you. Terribly sorry, Vera, may you rest in peace; can’t hold a candle to Dani Clayton.”

“It’s because I made one of your childhood dreams come true, isn’t it.”

“Hm,” Jamie muses, “proud of that one, are you?”

“Just a little.”

“It’s wonderful, love,” Jamie speaks softly, raking easy fingers through Dani’s hair. “Promise.” A pause. Her hand freezes for a moment, then resumes its steady path. “No one…ah, no one’s done anything like this for me before.”

Jamie’s life thus far has been far from perfect, as Dani knows from the pieces Jamie has shared. Bouncing from home to home as a child and landing in with the wrong crowd. A life in which stability and consistency did not exist, in which Jamie came to learn that companionship--love--is conditional and hinges upon her ability to provide. At the first sign that she could not be serviceable, in some way or another, she was cast aside.

She learned to work with her hands. Plants cannot reject you, after all, and there are always cracks to be patched, leaky faucets to be repaired. To some, the work might feel tedious, but to Jamie, the monotony feels safe, providing her a sense of immutability in an otherwise turbulent life.

And, as Jamie tells it, three years into her residence at Bly, a goddamn American started traipsing about the garden, and everything went to shit.

More or less.

Dani thoroughly wraps herself around Jamie’s middle, eliminating any space that existed between them. Words fail her, but she hopes her message resonates all the same.

Things are different, now.

***

When they eventually untangle themselves, it’s in favor of washing away the grime of travel with a hot shower. Dani unpacks as Jamie steps under the spray, rejecting the proposal to join, on account of one of them should make sure they’re on time for dinner.

They’re still almost late, though, neither realizing that the barn they’d seen that afternoon doubled as the formal dining room, and they stumble in just in time to settle at a small table in the back of the packed hall.

“Didn’t realize this was dinner and a show,” Jamie comments, observing the raised platform at the front of the room.

“So, there may have been another reason I picked this place,” Dani explains in a whisper, so as not to irk the other patrons seated nearby. “They have this Christmas Eve tradition I read about in one of the travel books and--”

Music echoes through the space from a small pit orchestra set up to the side, and a spotlight illuminates the stage, where two figures are hidden by pale blue fans.

“They may, or may not,” Dani winces, face screwing up into a weak grimace, “kind of, invite local performance groups to do songs from the movie?” She bites her lip, peering at Jamie through one eye.

Jamie, for her part, appears equal parts enthralled and perturbed. “Gotta hand it to you, Poppins,” she says, mouth slightly agape, “You know how to keep to a theme.”

Dani likes to think she hadn’t been chair of the prom committee in high school for nothing. “I really hope you don’t absolutely hate this movie, or this will be a very awkward dinner.”

“Wasn’t one of my favorites,” Jamie admits, leaning in, “but it certainly is now.” Under the cover of the tablecloth, she grips Dani’s hand and gives a discrete squeeze, Dani relaxing at her touch. “It’s very sweet,” Jamie murmurs, amused. The silver chain resting around her neck reflects the stage light as she turns her head. The number draws to a close, met with enthusiastic whooping from the jovially intoxicated crowd.

A server delivers two plates, starter salads, to their table, jotting down polite requests for main courses and alcoholic beverages.

By the finale number, Dani is warm and a bit wine-drunk. Her chair has migrated, over the course of the evening, to perch mere inches from Jamie’s. The gardener’s fingers move with the melody, eyes closed, an easy smile on her lips. She hums under her breath to match the vocalist crooning into the microphone. Dani commits the sight to memory. Jamie, here, draped in flickering shadows, untroubled by good intentions, chores that ought to be done, single-sided debts to be paid to no one and everyone. She is utterly beautiful. And Dani is utterly smitten.

Perhaps it is the wine. Perhaps it is the security provided conveniently by the position of their tucked-away table. Dani parts the tablecloth and traces down Jamie’s slender wrist, their fingers slotting together like a key in a lock. She presses the briefest of kisses to Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie’s thumb runs over Dani’s knuckle.

The antique oil lamps lining the walls glimmer warmly, and the final verse of the reimagined Irving Berlin classic fades into applause.

It is snowing lightly when they wander back to the main building and into their room, faces flushed from the chill. Dani giggles, squirming away from Jamie pushing a cold nose into her neck. Jamie chases her, pins her to the door with a sound kiss. Dani cups the nape of her neck, holding her close. The flurries melted into her hair are cool against Dani’s palm.

“Good night?” Dani asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“Mm,” Jamie puffs against her lips, nuzzling closer “was perfectly splendid.”

“Was it, now?” Dani ribs coyly.

Jamie pulls back just far enough to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. “Dani,” her voice is insistent, sincere, “thank you.”

Dani feels herself blush under the intensity of Jamie’s stare.

“I mean it.” Jamie’s index finger curls pointedly under Dani’s chin, tilting her head up, and something pulls low in Dani’s gut. “Thank you.”

Her lips are soft, pliant beneath Dani’s, speaking volumes in the silence. The snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the earth in mysticism the way only a new snow can. In here, though, the air burns.

They break apart at their lungs’ insistence, chests heaving in unison, but they do not stray far, choosing instead to stay, wrapped up in each other, neither willing to allow the moment to pass. Jamie smells faintly of smoke and the inn’s shampoo. Her sweater stretches slightly in Dani’s insistent hands.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any mince pie and whiskey stashed away?” Jamie nods to the fireplace, lips kiss-swollen and hair mussed.

Dani pauses, a little taken aback, and feeling a bit like someone’s just doused her in icy water. “Do I have...what?”

“Have you got any mince pie and whiskey?”

A flash of panic shoots through her, and she runs through a mental checklist. Is there something she missed? Something Jamie had said?

“Um, should I?”

“What else are you supposed to leave Father Christmas?”

“Milk and cookies?”

“Milk and cookies,” Jamie scoffs in a poor imitation of Dani’s Midwestern accent, “how’s that going to keep a person going all night? Blimey, man’s got to travel ‘round the world, you know.”

“Blimey, must’ve left them in my other suitcase,” Dani laments, outlining the fair curve of Jamie’s collarbone, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin.

“A real shame.” Jamie’s exhale is a note heavier.

Dani hums, “Bet I can make up for it.”

Jamie’s brows rise. “Oh, can you, now?”

“Mhm,” Dani affirms, with a sigh. Before she can go any further, though, her face splits into a yawn, and any semblance of seduction is instantly dashed.

Jamie laughs, stepping away and checking the grandfather clock that stands in the corner of the room. “Half eleven. Ought to get you to bed.” She leans in, with a wink, “Santa won’t come if you’re not asleep.”

“Oh, come on,” Dani says reproachfully, rolling her eyes in a manner not dissimilar to chiding Owen’s god-awful puns. She tugs Jamie toward the wardrobe.

They slip between the sheets a short while later, lying close in the double bed, a perfect mess of legs and arms and contentment.

“‘S after midnight,” Jamie whispers, long after Dani thought her breathing had evened out. “Happy Christmas, love.”

Dani’s heart swells. “Merry Christmas, Jamie.”

***

Pale sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, coating the wallpaper in a serene glow. It’s rather poetic, Dani thinks, the way the light falls across Jamie’s sleeping face, highlighting the graceful tilt of her cheekbones, the button of her nose. Jamie looks ethereal in the morning, something Dani cannot truthfully claim about herself.

She traces the high arch of Jamie’s brow with her thumb, and the woman’s eyes flutter open. She blinks, adjusting to the feeling of being awake, until her gaze settles upon Dani, propped up on her elbow.

“G’morning, sleepyhead,” Dani coos.

“Been up long?” Jamie asks, voice low and sleep-rough.

“Not long,” Dani replies. “Was getting hungry, though. Thought you might like to see what Santa brought you before breakfast.”

Jamie sits up slowly, a cheeky grin turning up the corners of her lips. “As though waking up next to you isn’t enough?”

“Sweet-talker,” Dani says, nudging her, “It’s small, I promise.” She rolls out of bed, grimacing when her bare feet make contact with chilly wood. She rummages through her backpack, the one Jamie knows not to investigate, and emerges with a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. A red bow is stuck to the top, a little squished, but thankfully still intact. Dani crosses her legs on the bed.

“Now, hold on.” Jamie reaches for her rucksack, pulling out a newspaper-covered object. She sets it on the bed. If Dani didn’t know any better, she would think Jamie seems, almost, embarrassed. “Not much experience by way of gift-giving, I’m afraid.” She wrings her hands in her lap.

“Hey,” Dani soothes, “like you said. I’m happy just being with you, okay?”

Jamie gives her a small smile. She huffs, “Look at me, being all gloomy on Christmas morning. C’mon then, open it up.”

Dani picks at the newsprint, unfolding each section delicately, deliberately. As she peels away the final layer, in her hands, she holds a small camera and a few rolls of film. She looks to Jamie, who studies her carefully, gauging Dani’s reaction.

“Might be silly, but I thought, you know, all this traveling, might be nice to collect a few momentos. Have something to look back on a few years down the line.”

Years. Years. Years. Dani allows herself to imagine them, together, somewhere, anywhere, on a couch, years from now, turning the pages of a photo album.

Yes, she decides, years.

She must have some kind of expression on her face, because Jamie speaks. “Alright, there?” She says it casually, lightly, but underlying the words is a pool of worry. Worry that Jamie has overstepped, that she’s made a mistake, that Dani will cast her aside.

“Years,” Dani says. “Years,” she repeats, high-pitched and carefree. She captures Jamie’s lips in a kiss, a celebration of time gone by, a promise of time yet to come.

“Take it you like it, then?”

Yes, Dani wants to scream, God, yes. You’ve given me the future and there are not enough words in the world to explain how I feel about you.

She settles, instead, for inserting a roll of film and bringing the viewfinder to eye level, the lens pointed at Jamie, who still wears a small smile. She is illuminated by a halo of sunlight, catching wayward hairs in its rays. The shutter clicks, and it’s loud in the stillness of the morning.

At the confused tilt of Jamie’s head, Dani attempts to clarify. “I wanted,” she explains, sounding only a little strangled, “the first memory to be of you, and me, here. In this moment.” She sighs, “Just us.”

Jamie’s face softens as she understands. Her hand snakes around Dani’s head, and she pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright, your turn,” Dani decrees, when they separate, and Jamie accepts the offered gift. “Not as exciting as a camera, but I hope you like it.”

“Poppins,” Jamie breathes, staring at the unwrapped item on the bed as if afraid to touch it, “it’s beautiful.”

Dani had found the journal at a craft fair they visited in Chicago. The man said he’d been working with leather for twenty years. The book is bound in green leather, with shimmering gold trim around its border. On the front cover, a leaf, also covered in thin gold foil, is stamped into the material. Dani had been immediately drawn to it.

“I think we had similar ideas,” Dani jokes. “I thought, since you’re always talking to yourself and coming up with new ideas, you might like a place to put everything in that brilliant brain of yours.”

“Feels like I’m saying this a lot lately,” Jamie chuckles, “but thank you, Dani. I love it.”

As if on cue, Dani’s stomach makes itself known, and she cringes.

“Right, how about breakfast?” Jamie inquires.

“I can wait,” Dani says, “The dining room closes at ten.” She glances at the clock. “We’ve got time.”

“For what?”

Jamie catches the mischievous glint in her eye. “Pretty sure I still have to atone for my grievous crime of depriving Santa of whiskey and mince pie. Unless, that is, you’ve decided to let me off the hook?” She gingerly places Jamie’s journal on the bedside table next to her camera.

“Oh, you, my dear,” Jamie all but purrs, punctuating each word with a kiss, “are still very much on the hook.”

***

Breakfast has all but ended by the time they make it downstairs.

Dani decides that cold pancakes have never tasted so good.

#*banging pots and pans* #christmas fic christmas fic christmas fic #I hope you enjoy! #fic #damie secret Santa #damie #dani clayton #fanfic #damie fanfic #thobm #the haunting of bly manor #jamie thobm #jamie the gardener #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #thobm fanfic #the haunting of bly manor fanfic #christmas #fluff #my writing #Bly Manor fanfic #satelitesprite #jamie #Owen sharma #Hannah grose #white christmas

[zhonglishrine]

The Sky Is Too Far

Pairing: Reader x Nikolai Gogol x Fyodor Dostoevsky Note: Basically I’m trying to implement reader in Gogol’s love quest so it become triangle mess. Thank you for @fyowyn-writes​ and my friend Negin for beta/proofread this!

One of these days you might bleed your heart for real. Why? Because loving someone and having it unrequited is something is quite painful to bear. Like a cross that is forever burning inside your chest. But you already know, once you have signed the deal, seeing the subtle hints here and there, you should’ve known better than to hope for something so futile and impossible to grasp in the first place. However, you are still too stupid to believe and too naïve to think that he might spare you a little glance, looking at you back like how he did to him. Full of affection and attention— as an intimate friend, or more than that.

You never know how he truly feels for him, but hearing him talking about him is enough to tell you that.

Getting into a relationship with Gogol is never an easy thing since he wasn’t one to put any label for you and him. But you two were just that… having a dubious and questionable relationship from the start as he let you be the one to guess what you two are. Were you nothing more or less than a companion with benefits to him? Knowing Gogol, he is not one to tie himself with any commitment but that didn’t stop him from luring you with a bit of hope and whisper to you with his sweet words for his mere amusement. He enjoyed seeing your different reactions and all that surprised expression you make.

Behind his snickers and porcelain mask, he always led you to confusion as you kept searching for the answer of his riddles. Endlessly trying to catch up to him like stretching your hand up to the sky hopelessly. You are a flightless bird that cannot fly, and he is the endless mirage that you can’t touch but only can see from your invincible cage.

Just what are you to him?

That was the question that you always want to ask but too afraid to know. It stuck in your throat each time you tried to bring it up. Some things are better once left unknown, as the truth is bitter to swallow. However, you still wish if only you could do something, anything to win his heart, even if you know who has already occupied it.

Although, the said person did not reciprocate his feelings as well. At least, you can tell that as much.

But does Fyodor know about how Gogol truly felt towards him? For you, it was too plain and obvious to see, as he treasured him and had profound respect towards the said anemic man from the way he talked and the way he looked at him. And you doubt he was stupid not to see it as Fyodor is observant and nothing is left unseen to his eyes. Just like an omniscient God, he knows and oversees everything. However, that doesn’t mean that he would care for such petty feelings harbored towards him— every single person is just a pawn for him after all, a mere puppet that danced within the palm of his hand as he tugged on its strings.

That included you, and Gogol wasn’t an exception either.

As no one is special in the eyes of God since he treats everyone equally.   

Isn’t that what he hates the most? Isn’t that why he wants to get rid of it by losing sight of himself? However, it was still something quite entertaining to watch. Even he was extra hopeless in front of Fyodor. Restraining himself so that he would not appear too desperate. At times when he was frustrated although he didn’t openly display it, you are whom he came to. Either to talk or just to vent what he repressed. He dislikes not being free, he said so many times, and yet he keeps coming back to the same trap again and again and it binds him the more he was in it. In an endless circle of this never-ending wheel, unable to touch his moy d'yavol as he can only gaze from afar just like how you keep looking at him.

If only he would stop and look back for once, then perhaps you might reach him. But no, you never get that chance and he never bestows you that opportunity. Neither one of them gives that room to sort how they truly feel about. Too prideful and too egotistical to admit the truth, lest their weaknesses be uncovered and they appear vulnerable. 

And you can never understand what they are thinking. One is a man chasing down his path of Godhood, simply holding pawns in his hand, disposing them after they are no longer of use. He breaks them with bestiality prior to mercilessly tearing them to shreds, that is his melodramatic games that he likes to play with all the pieces he collected and salvaged. So beautiful Fedyushka, he graciously lifted his fingers on the chessboard without moving any muscles but he controlled all their movement from the shadows like a true ringmaster. Drawing the cards from the deck only for him to toss it aside and burn it in flames once he has figured it out. He set his own rules and he won his own game. That’s just how he is. A devil in disguise that swore to wipe clean the sinner from the face of this earth as if he was truly the God he proclaimed to be.

Another one is a clown, his whole life being a sheer joke and a satire that he parades around proudly with his maniac laugh. Playing his role as the Fool for his King and to entertain his audiences to satiate their greed. Fooling them all by the snap of his fingers just how magicians always did their magic tricks. But Nikolasha is always the sweet arlekin jester one, he knows what his audiences want to see and hear so he pulls them with his charms best with his gleaming grin. Magnificent and splendid he was, yet he never once wins against his Fedyushka in a chess or poker game or anything else. But you on the other hand, always lost to him even before the bet was at stakes. Always three steps behind as he keeps moving forward to chase his important friend that he claimed already too far ahead. And still, neither of you or him achieve what you truly want and are still caught in a stalemate. 

Why won’t he look at you, dear Kol’ka? Doesn’t he know that Fedya only manipulated and toyed with him? Fyodor wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice him even though he had claimed how Nikolai was one of his treasured subordinates. He knew how to pull the string of his words to temper with his chaotic mind. Like ivy tendrils wrapped around his heart as he was left at his mercy with every thorn pricking him within every inch. However, he still stayed, it was a poison he intoxicated himself with a perilous risk he was willing to take, yet even so, he is blindfolded by his sentiments, negligent to how they keep on hurting him. Maybe he just enjoys that thrill, the one that you weren’t able to provide him.

Oh, sweet, sweet dear Kolya. He is such a fool, really.

And you are no better either, wanting what you can’t have. It’s both tragic and pathetic, childish even. You know it already, but you can’t help wishing upon a connection solid as concrete. A little validation that there is something between you two. And it is never easy to spit it out after it has taken the root within your soul. Being attached to him when he gives you empty promises is a grave mistake. He has warned you so not to trust any of his clown words, and yet you keep falling for it, ignoring his blatant warning. So, who can you blame but yourself? Even when it hurts you piteously, as you are left unable to utter the words,  desperately endeavor to manipulate the surge of sentiments within you, those that are killing you slowly. You do love him dearly, and yet those are things that will hinder him to you. He never wants any personal feelings to be involved.

You two are similar to one another in one more ways than one; as  you were simply a grotesque reflection of his depraved desire. Perhaps, that is why he didn’t want to look at you? As  you both suffer from this torment but never bother to make it stop. Just how he never spares you a glance neither did Fedyushka do to him. Call this sentiment as one may associated with perversion, what makes it hurt there is the little reminder that left of his sanity and your will that you both are still a mortal being played by God and his destiny. You never had a place in the beginning for him and neither did he for him.

Love truly can make one blind, with one eye or not. However, it is too vast of context. His love for Fyodor can be described as a platonic one, or maybe it was twisted, a sentiment that consumed his whole mind. Fedyushka is the only one he set his eyes on, and all he wants is to prove that he can get rid of him so that he can be as free as a bird.

And it tugged the string of your heart whenever he kept reminding you of that fact. You were never of any importance to him, just how much Fyodor was with the way he treats you and the way he acts around Fyodor. It is too much of a difference with how his molten gold eye would lighten up and how enthusiastic he was whenever his Fedyushka was involved.

There is a little piece of your heart that you resent, the feeling of a tiny bit of jealousy with the unconditional treatment he gives him. You knew that he would do anything for him in a drop of a hat. What is different there to one that devoted themselves to the God that he actually despised? The duality of a man he is. If he cannot be honest with himself, what makes you think he would open up to you anyway?

You were tired, and it is mentally draining, you have scrapped your knees as you have fallen many times to give up chasing him. But whenever you see your darling jester again, despite all the bruises you had and how battered you are, you were still drawn to him. Again, and again, it was an endless chasing game in this labyrinth of a maze with no exit once you are in. 

And you wonder… are you truly okay with unrequited love? Was it enough if you can talk with him and hear his voice even when a single word that he speaks was not meant for you?

Dos-kun this, Dos-kun that. Always Dos, Dos, and Dos. Everything is always about Dos.

Keeping your smile in silence, you would listen to his prattle until he is done talking. But that always ached your heart the more you tried to mask your feelings. Really, Kol’ka, would it hurt if he talked about you a little? Sparing a thought about how you feel? Or was it too much to ask from him? Oftentimes you find yourself unable to say anything as you lost your voice in exasperation, holding back your tears from falling. Yet, you are stronger than to succumb to such reasons in lieu of coming across as vulnerable in front of him. 

But you still wanted to scream bloody murder to his face, however at the same times you were also too much of a coward to let him know how you feel. Whether he was too stupid or he simply did it on purpose to mess around, you can never tell. You could never read his unpredictable nature, for he is like storms that can bring a hurricane if he desires, and for all you know, he can then be sunny and bright, as though nothing had ever happened at all. It’s frustrating to play this game with him continuously. It hurt you, so painful just to pretend that you were okay.

Or maybe that is just how he is… truly free just like his true nature is. You look up feeling rather defeated with the game you never even once won. Nothing you could do to change him after all, as bitter as it was to admit it. He is just too stubborn for his own good as he keeps pursuing his goal. But in case you ever managed to do so, then he wouldn’t be the Nikolai Gogol that you have known. Despite all of his ignorance, he is still someone that has stolen your heart and you are the one willingly let him to have it. Stretching your hand up, you shield your eyes from the glaring sun. Narrowing your eyes to filter the sunlight, you wait until your vision gets used to it to see better.

The sky is too far indeed, and it is only beautiful just to solely watch and no more. Just like him. Perhaps, this is why you can only gaze at him from where you are, still unable to reach. 

Still, hopeless to wish.

#nikolai gogol #nikolai gogol x reader #gogol x reader #nikolai gogol x fyodor dostoevsky #gogol x fyodor #bungou stray dogs #bungoustraydogs #bsd

[indiavolojones]

3kish words, E, pr: dialuci, #frantic handsy grinding where both parties are grimy and trapped in a place. that’s what romance is, thanks @devildomz

“Lucifer,” Diavolo purrs, and Lucifer tosses a halfhearted glare up through his lashes at the ornately carved ceiling at nothing in particular. Spares a moment to wonder for the owner of this tomb, and if they ever had someone that said their name just the way Diavolo says his. 

He shivers at the thought. 

alternate summary: a dialuci addition to a modern magic!au i wrote, where Lucifer is a world-renowned curse-breaker that takes a teaching job at the academy Diavolo is in charge of. they then go on a field trip that ends with them trapped in a tomb! but don’t let this fool you, it’s a frottage pwp. 

(based in the same universe as this asmo/solomon magic college!au)

because i have no impulse control, and because @kareirakugaki is a *terrible* influence that went “what if they went to a tomb” and 

tumblr user indiavolojones: oh fuck yeah

i also play loose and fast with the details. don’t look too into how magic works, guys.

~~~

“A university funded trip,” Lucifer summarizes, looking at the proposal in front of him, “You want me to take a group of children to an ancient tomb with a potentially large amount of obscure, lethal curses.” 

“They’re hardly children, Lucifer!” Diavolo laughs, waving his hands. It’s partially true, the Advanced Curse-Breaking course hosts only students aged twenty and up, but Lucifer has seen much older adults lose their cool at less. Lucifer smothers the knee-jerk reaction to squint suspiciously as Diavolo just keeps giving him that megawatt smile. The same one that both charms and infuriates the Board, much to Lucifer’s secret, vindictive glee. 

“Besides,” Diavolo’s smile softens, and softens Lucifer’s carefully constructed walls with it, “You said you missed being out in the field. I thought this might be fun for you.” 

Lucifer sighs. Maybe this will be fine. 

-

-

-

Never again. 

Absolutely no more field trips for the curse-breaking department. Lucifer will bring back every obscure jinxed item he stumbles upon back to campus before he ever, ever goes on another university funded trip.

They’ve been trapped here for nearly a week. 

More specifically, six days since Lucifer missed one curse, delicately woven into the surface of a pressure plate, and he hasn’t stopped beating himself up since. An ancient magic that had immediately sent shivers through the entrance hall, Lucifer barely managing to shout get back! at Mammon and the rest of their party when the foundations began to crumble. 

Mammon and the others should find the exit easily enough, considering it’s only a few hours in the other direction. Getting back to Lucifer and Diavolo is the hard part, now that the site of their cave-in (aka the only known way out) is an unstable path, they have to find another way out or hope that someone out there can find them. Magical tombs are notorious for being hard to get in and out of without using the intended entrances, too many wards layered over the walls to dissuade those who would try to use brute strength to get through the labyrinth. Thankfully, Diavolo and Lucifer are both powerful mages in their own rights, so they’re far from helpless. Lucifer’s able to siphon water from the moss and wildlife to keep their water pouches adequately filled, even if it tastes a little strange. Diavolo has an intense amount of obscure knowledge of herbology, and somehow manages to deduce which of the strange plants won’t kill them to consume. 

They stick close to the cave-in, but the ground grumbles in warning every so often, and Lucifer makes the call for them to venture further into the depths but... They aren’t any closer to finding a way out. They’re running out of supplies, their mana reserves at an agonizing all time low, and one can only live on bitter moss and plant water for so long. 

The kiss itself is not a surprise, but merely a culmination of months of unspoken tension and lingering, awkward affection, spurned into action by the adrenaline, the danger. Diavolo’s hand massaging enticingly into Lucifer’s hip as he pushes him against the mossy wall, the wandering nature of the other hand as it traces up the side of Lucifer’s neck, cupping his jaw.   

When his back hits the stone, Lucifer’s lips part to warn Diavolo against the act, as it might trigger any wall traps they might not have initially noticed–but Diavolo reads this as an invitation, tongue dipping deeper into the other’s mouth. Lucifer’s traitorous legs spread to accommodate Diavolo’s increased force, tipping back so that he’s balanced by Diavolo’s body and the surface behind him, so hm, maybe it was an invitation. 

If this is how they’re going to go out, Lucifer would rather be kissed breathless than die wandering aimlessly through these ruins… Although, now that he thinks about it, it would hurt his ego terribly to be found mid-embrace, skewered by some magical spear trap. 

After all his hard work, for his research and reputation to be dragged through the dirt at his tragic end...

Lucifer’s hand on Diavolo’s chest starts pushing insistently, until Diavolo tilts his head back. The kiss breaks, but not the heat between them. Lucifer can’t help the glancing down at the spit-slicked sheen of Diavolo’s swollen lips, dragging his gaze up to catch the burning gold of his eyes. His heart stutters, but Lucifer keeps his composure as he speaks: 

“Do you think now is the time for this?” 

As if Lucifer is not hard, hot, and wanting against Diavolo’s body, his breath rattling in his chest–but Lucifer’s hands are pressed flat against the cool wall behind him, fingers wordlessly easing magic into the stonework to search for signs of ancient curse-work.  

“I think everything will work out in the end,” Diavolo says, calm and measured, yet light and playful–his words are vague enough that Lucifer’s eyes narrow. 

Desperation is a heady, powerful drug. 

It would make perfect sense for Diavolo to kiss him now, when their tension is at an all time high, when the harsh need for survival is offset by the human desire for comfort. There is a heat in the other’s motions, in how Diavolo’s hands twitch to explore Lucifer’s body, but none of the desperation that Lucifer would expect from a rowdy, passionate encounter in an ancient, abandoned tomb.

“Why is that?” Lucifer scoffs. Why does he have such confidence? What does he know that Lucifer does not? 

Lucifer is no stranger to dangerous situations–curse breaking is the equivalent of bomb diffusion, essentially. Including all the morally dubious, soul rotting side-effects of knowing how to build those bombs. So Lucifer, who has on more than one occasion thrown himself into death’s arms only to come out victorious, should not be more frantic than Diavolo, a fucking chancellor to a prestigious magical academy. 

A man that spends more time sitting inside, filling out paperwork, and guiding young, impressionable minds than anything else should not look so calm.  

“Because you’re here.” Diavolo grins, a boyish honesty to his words. A record audibly screeches in his head. Lucifer blinks, magic stuttering to a halt at the other’s words, peppering out against the unforgiving stone. 

“You’re Lucifer Morningstar–world-renowned curse-breaker.” Oh, he’s playing at Lucifer’s pride in the best way, and Diavolo knows it. “You have more accolades than most of the staff. You’re the best person I could have possibly been trapped with in a place like this.” 

Diavolo raises the hand from Lucifer’s hip to gesture at the tomb around them, before reaching down to prod at one of the hands Lucifer has against the wall, urging until he laces their hands together. Residual magic sparks off Lucifer’s hands, and Diavolo rubs his thumb into the nooks between his knuckles.

“How could I not think everything will be fine?” 

If Lucifer were Mammon, he would be spitting vehement dissent until the moment passed. If he were Levi, he might spontaneously combust. If he were Satan, he–Lucifer doesn’t have time to ponder what his stupid brothers would do when faced with such shameless praise. His parted lips speak no words, Lucifer knows that he likely has a few precious seconds before Diavolo teases him on his speechlessness–

–Diavolo kisses him, and it wipes away all coherent thought anyway. 

-

-

-

Lucifer, a healthy thirty-something year old man, is not a virgin. 

(Granted, most of the people he sleeps with tend to not have any knowledge of what he truly does. Being a world-renowned curse-breaker has its perks, but most people that find out his profession tend to be a little put off. Professor has a much more respectable edge to it, not that Lucifer’s been able to think about anyone but this absolutely infuriating chancellor.)

With this thought in mind, Lucifer will kill both Diavolo and then himself before he ever admits that Diavolo manages to work him into, dare he say it, a mess. 

He’ll only acknowledge that Diavolo’s plans to completely blindside him with his honesty worked perfectly, much to his chagrin, however much Diavolo denies there being any kind of planning involved. (Lucifer hears Diavolo’s infuriating, lilting voice, full of amusement: How could he have planned a cave-in, Lucifer? Lucifer has too much faith in him!) 

Regardless, Lucifer flourishes under Diavolo’s touch, the hand on his neck tracing back to fist into his hair, the hand laced with him against the wall refuses to let Lucifer go. 

He’s sure that he doesn’t smell great, that they’re both covered in layers of grime–they’ve taken the best efforts to keep clean with what they have available, but Diavolo bites at Lucifer’s neck like he smells and tastes like a fucking delicacy, and Lucifer lets out a gasp too loud in the echoing chamber. His mouth snaps shut, fierce blush crossing his cheeks, but he can feel Diavolo’s smile against his skin. 

“Lucifer,” Diavolo purrs, and Lucifer tosses a halfhearted glare up through his lashes at the ornately carved ceiling at nothing in particular. Spares a moment to wonder for the owner of this tomb, and if they ever had someone that said their name just the way Diavolo says his.

He shivers at the thought. When Diavolo says his name again, it’s accompanied by a gasp turning into a muffled shout, bitten into the exposed skin just above the collar of Diavolo’s leather jacket when Diavolo slides a thick, muscular thigh between Lucifer’s legs. 

Diavolo presses the weight of himself, slotting perfectly against the spaces of Lucifer’s body–Lucifer’s free hand flies to grab Diavolo’s bicep, marvels in the flex of it under the fabric. 

“No one’s here, Lucifer,” Diavolo murmurs–Lucifer somehow spares another moment to curse him for this, for the quiet intensity that Diavolo only displays in the tenderest of their exchanges. Granted, before this, it was quiet evenings in the faculty room, a coffee gifted after a sleepless night of grading papers. Now it’s Diavolo grinding against him. 

“You don’t have to hide your voice.” 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, deciding that he’s been pliant and demure for long enough. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer replies, almost nastily, but it holds no true malice and Diavolo’s always been a sucker for Lucifer being a bit cruel anyway. Lucifer would have to be blind to not notice that when others shy away from his harsh tongue, Diavolo takes to it like breathing. 

It’s a quick, easy motion for Lucifer to slide the hand from Diavolo’s bicep to his hair, to grab tighter onto Diavolo’s short red hair. Dirt streaks across Diavolo’s cheek from somewhere, and Lucifer has to fight to hold onto his feral lust, instead of the foreign burst of affection, the desire to dotingly wipe it away with his thumb. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” He asks, and the question comes out quieter than intended. 

“I want a lot of things, Lucifer,” Diavolo admits, and truly, his honesty will be the death of Lucifer. His head tilts into Lucifer’s hand, melts into his grip. “Pretty much all of them involve you.” His amused, lidded eyes drip with intent so pointed that Lucifer almost balks at the weight, hesitant at the promise Diavolo offers so freely. 

Lucifer will forever claim his apprehension is a mix of exhaustion and concern for their situation, not an oppressive doubt, the latent insecurity that shades all of Lucifer’s decisions. 

But when Diavolo shifts back to clumsily undo the button and zipper to Lucifer’s pants, slipping his hand in, cupping over the thick line of Lucifer’s cock through his boxers, Lucifer finds it hard to doubt the other at all. Groaning through grit teeth at the new, too-close friction, Lucifer tries to jerk away. Diavolo takes his face in hand, stares directly into his eyes. 

“Just, just let me,” Diavolo stumbles over a laugh, huffs the rest of his sentence, his fingers dragging over the head of his cock, dampening the fabric with his precum. It makes Lucifer feel like a teenager again, each breath too hot in his lungs, nearly delirious with want.

Diavolo hisses when Lucifer tries to reach for his cock as well, batting the other’s hand away, warning, “Lucifer.” 

While Diavolo is a powerful mage, there’s generally a difference in the level of skill between himself and Lucifer. Lucifer’s talents lay in the practical, in understanding the groundwork and complexities of something in front of him, something tangible. Diavolo is brilliant in his mastery of diplomacy and the theoretical, the open, endless possibilities that magic and its future leaders will present. 

Physically, though... Not by much, but Diavolo is taller. Diavolo is broader. Lucifer is aware of his own physique, pleasant to look at, although slightly softened by the last few months of grading papers and helping students get uncursed by their own experiments. 

Diavolo has a natural strength to his motions, a warrior’s confidence, a king’s authority–but Diavolo is an educated, if not eccentric, man. Lucifer has never seen him resort to paltry shows of brute strengths for anything his mind could conquer.

So when Lucifer makes another attempt at getting in Diavolo’s pants, Diavolo pins Lucifer’s hand against the wall by his shoulders. The jarring impact of the back of his hand hitting the stone wall sends an unexpected thrill through him, sends something like magic through his nerves, setting off his synapses. The novelty of it. Of Diavolo, so aloof, so charming–the intensity of his force is exhilarating, and Lucifer does not quite know how to temper the want in his chest at the sight of it. 

Once Lucifer relents, folds to this interesting new sensation, Diavolo finally gets a proper palming grip on his cock through the boxer briefs. Lucifer groans, not entirely muffling his voice, but the hand in Diavolo’s hair tightens again, and he presses his lips to the shell of Diavolo’s ear so that the other can hear how he feels. It works as intended, because Diavolo lets out another quiet curse, his impossibly warm, big hand stroking faster along Lucifer’s shaft. 

In the end, it’s easy to let himself get swept up in Diavolo. The angle is awkward, but Diavolo’s enthusiastic motions are consistent enough that Lucifer feels pleasure building low in his belly. Diavolo’s grip on his wrist loosens to the point, where his motions are jerky enough that somehow, he’s not sure which of them cause it, their hands lace again. 

The act is so intimate that it almost startles a laugh out of Lucifer, or it would have, if Lucifer had any air in his lungs left to spare for such things. 

It is laughable, to have them hold hands like this when the act they’re engaging in is so shameless in itself. There is nothing romantic or intimate about how they’re pressed against the wall of a long forgotten tomb, Diavolo’s hand shoved down his pants and Lucifer desperately holding onto him as Diavolo threatens to tear him apart from the inside out. 

Lucifer is exhausted, strung out, his mana deficient a hollow ache inside his chest, but Diavolo’s touch is everything. Distantly, he wonders if Diavolo is adept at any kind of healing magics, but no, Diavolo is just as magically depleted as he is. There is no other reason for the scorching heat between them other than their own stupid libidos. 

Lucifer can barely breathe, his nails dig into Diavolo’s skin hard enough to leave bright red, crescent marks in both the nape of his neck and the back of his other hand. Pleasure shoots up his body at the too-dry strokes, his toes curling as he rocks into Diavolo’s steady form. He kisses Diavolo, wet and messy. Their teeth clack, Lucifer bites down on Diavolo’s lower lip hard enough that he tastes a hint of blood, sharp and coppery in his mouth. 

Diavolo keens, and the sound is so wanton, so needy, that it makes Lucifer’s entire body shudder. 

Lucifer’s orgasm is a surprise that shoots through him like a flare. When he cums, he lets out a strangled cry at his release into their kiss– the sound swallowed by Diavolo’s greedy mouth. He arches against Diavolo, his entire body caught in a thin line of tension. He screws his eyes shut, shaking as Diavolo’s hand continues to work him through each wave of raw pleasure. 

Diavolo talks him through it, murmuring quiet words of encouragement that would have Lucifer snarling were it anyone else. Diavolo does not mean to be patronizing, a voice deep inside Lucifer knows, and in the dreamy, post orgasm-haze, he clings onto it. He clings until his cock becomes too sensitive in his boxers, his body twitching away from Diavolo’s thorough touch. 

It is now that he realizes the uncomfortable situation of having cum in his pants, a truly disgusting sensation as it drips down his thigh, embarrassingly coats the front of his boxer briefs. 

“Don’t say anything,” Lucifer growls, and Diavolo pets his hair gently. Lucifer refuses to admit that it feels nice. 

“I wasn’t going to,” he promises, and before Lucifer can say anything else, he feels the accidental bump of Diavolo’s hard cock against his thigh. Another flash of embarrassment crosses his features at his own selfishness, easily reminded of how Lucifer had so desperately chased his own release in Diavolo’s hands. 

“Don’t get that look in your eye,” Diavolo croons, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of Lucifer’s jaw. Lucifer stifles the instinctive reaction to jerk his face away, cheeks burning bright red at the action. “I wanted to do that for you.”  

“I thought I said not to say anything,” Lucifer says, but then his hand is reaching down to cup Diavolo’s cock in hand, “And who said we were done?” 

“Let me down,” Lucifer commands, still breathless, unsure of why he’s requesting that they move positions. What Diavolo thinks is going to happen when they both get to the ground is just as much of a mystery to Diavolo as it is to Lucifer, although there’s a stunned, somehow still turned-on part of Lucifer’s brain that demands Diavolo kiss him on a horizontal surface. 

Maybe they’ll use some of their water rations to clean themselves, that way Lucifer can get on his knees, slide between Diavolo’s legs. Take the other into his mouth, heavy, thick weight of it on his tongue, and reduce the man to the same level of incoherency that Lucifer dreamily feels. 

Diavolo, the hapless fool, does his best to help Lucifer accommodate the new uncomfortable wetness in his pants, but his attempts are quickly in vain. With a quiet oof, one of his feet tangles with one of Lucifer’s, and they crumble to the ground. 

Lucifer lands unceremoniously on his ass, Diavolo on top of him. Diavolo’s hand reaches out to catch himself, bumping into a stone previously unnoticed. The stone shifts, unexpectedly, but what’s more of a surprise is the sharp sudden singing of triggered magic– –still reeling from his own orgasm, Lucifer reacts on instinct alone, one hand reaching out to grab a fistfull of Diavolo’s shirt, clutching him close to his body, another to sweep his arm up to cast a wide barrier around them. Diavolo grunts as his knees bash into the rough ground, propped up between Lucifer’s spread legs. He steadies himself on Lucifer’s knees, head twisting to turn around when nothing shoots out at them–

“Is that–” Diavolo begins, as Lucifer breathes, “–An exit.” 

---

Once they meet up with the rescue team, Lucifer has to handle Mammon being annoying and fretting over him while he’s got dried cum in his pants. That’s the end. I didn’t write it, but just know that Diavolo cannot stop grinning. Mammon’s like, what the hell man, i just SAVED YOU?? and lucifer is like, YES YES now can we PLEASE get the fuck out of here

i’ve been feeling kind of self-conscious about my obey me content recently so... thanks if u got this far huheuehe 

#ch: lucifer #ch: diavolo #pr: dialuci #writing #spicy content

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (2/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

///

Two

The second time she wakes in an unfamiliar bed, it hurts a hell of a lot more than it had the first time, which seems like it wouldn't be the case, but it is.

The room is dark with the exception of the warm orange glow of the fire and instead of the screaming child, she hears only the fire crackling timidly. Emma sighs as she tosses her head to the side.

She supposes that she should be grateful that someone was able to help her, that she isn't forced to deal with a broken leg and scarring in her forehead or the residual chills from nearly drowning in a freezing sea in the middle of a storm.

But her rescuer is no Prince Charming. Far from it, actually. The guy is almost as cold as the ocean and he's freakishly dark and terrifying.

Taking a deep breath, Emma pushes herself up into sitting position to examine her knee. He'd set it and the bruising is still there, but the bandage he'd wrapped around it to keep it in place covers most of the damage she'd seen for a few fractions of a second here or there.

Emma whips the blankets off of her and gets out of the bed, her feet slipping as they hit the hardwood floors.

She looks down at the outfit she's been dressed in, musing over how large and baggy they are, and after a glance around the room, she discovers her wet clothes still drying over the fire.

Emma forces herself to go to the fire so she can inspect the articles hanging above the heat.

Crinkling her nose, she decides to keep the sagging clothes on instead, wrapping her arms over her chest protectively. She's a little perturbed that he'd re-dressed her, that he'd seen her bare. Chills run down her spine at the mere idea.

With determination in her step, Emma opens the door, and walks out in time to hear shattering glass and a hiss, followed by, "Bloody hell!"

She walks cautiously, glancing around the room.

It's quaint. Very small, but livable, if you lived alone.

There's a tiny television sitting on a wooden stand across from the sofa. One wall is built with bookshelves installed inside and is full of literature. The fire is beside the television and there is also a lamp that provides low light to the sofa atop of a side table. The floor is covered in a foreign looking rug, one that might have been made by native culture, and she bites her lip as she considers where exactly the boat had thrown her off to.

They'd been on their way home to Maine, back from a trip to England, and the storm had been a mysterious surprise in the middle of nowhere. The ship may have gone down, she isn't sure. All she knows is that she was thrust off and found something to hold onto before she fell unconscious.

On the sofa, she discovers a pile of strategically placed pillows and blankets surrounding a lump that upon closer examination is a child. She frowns at the sight of him.

While he is asleep, he doesn't look very comfortable.

Emma glances over to the open doorway to where she supposes the kitchen must be, for that is where her Savior is cursing himself out in low tones.

The child stirs in his sleep and fusses, pulling at her heartstrings so that she leans in and lifts him to her chest, shushing him softly with a finger to his cheek.

Emma smiles a little, because growing up she'd always wanted a little baby brother or sister to play with, but her parents weren't able to conceive and they didn't want to adopt again, thinking she was more than enough for them.

Emma isn't sure where this little guy came from. She doesn't think there was a baby on the ship, but then again, she'd been kind of absorbed in worry about what she'd say to Neal come her return to Storybrooke.

She hears the clatter of boots on the floor at an ever-loudening pace and glances up from the child when they stop. He is standing at the door frame with a beer bottle in his hand, a tired look on his face that shifts slightly into confusion at the sight of her.

Emma opens her mouth for a moment considering what she should say before he speaks, gesturing to her with the hand holding the bottle, "You shouldn't be up on that leg."

Emma sighs and sinks down onto the couch with a sigh. "Better?"

His jaw clenches and he doesn't look happy with her, staying in the door frame for a moment longer before stepping into the room.

"Here. Milk for the child."

She stares at him with narrowed eyes before yanking the beer bottle from him. "I'm not here to be a nursemaid for some kid that you don't want to take care of. I don't know where he came from just as much as you."

The man gives her a thin smile as he lifts his eyebrows. "Well, I don't see his parents anywhere near here, so you'll do."

Emma gapes at him for a moment. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm naturally maternal."

"And just because I've brought you into my home, that doesn't mean I'm friendly."

She glares at him and he at her. He pinches up a fake smile and drops it as he storms out of the room again.

Emma rolls her eyes as she fiddles with the beer bottle in her hand, furious that she's even here. She'll have to leave first thing in the morning, get on a boat back to America and figure out whether or not her parents made it back yet.

She struggles to feed the child for a moment, because the hole doesn't work with feeding a baby, but she adapts, pressing her thumb over the hole just enough that he can access the fluid easily. She listens to him as he eats and watches for signs of his being finished, and when he is, she sets the bottle down on the floor and pulls him up to burp him.

The boots come charging back into the room and she shoots her eyes up to meet the dark blues that are the man's.

"I'll be out of your hair in the morning," she tells him.

He stares at her silently for a few long moments and shakes his head.

"Next ship to come through here isn't for four weeks." Emma furrows her brow, about to ask one of the hundred questions on the tip of her tongue, but he interrupts, "Small island in the middle of nowhere, love. I'm afraid we're stuck with each other until Smee comes with supplies."

She wants to scream, because, well, he is the worst person she's ever met, and apparently he has very little respect for her outside of the fact that he wants to help her not die.

Her eyes go wide at his statement and she watches him as he crosses the room to put a bowl of something on the side table under the sickly orange glow of the lamp. The spoon in the bowl clatters upon being set down and she glares when he steps back to look at her.

"I feel some ground rules will be important," he tells her, eyeing her warily.

Emma scoffs. "Ground rules, really? How old do you think I am?"

He gives her that tight, mocking smile again and crouches down in front of her in the most demeaning way.

The baby gurgles out puke onto her and she doesn't care, because it's his shirt and she'll just change in a few minutes. Or maybe she'll wear it and smell up his living room for a while.

She lowers the child into her arms as he speaks.

"Rule number one. You will care for the child for as long as we're stuck together."

She gapes at him for a second and shakes her head. "Woah there, buddy. I told you I don't do kids."

He lifts his eyebrows as if challenging her and she copies him, but he doesn't break.

Emma sighs heavily. She’s forced into a corner here. If he won’t do it, or can’t, then who will?

"Fine. If you're not going to take care of him." She looks down at the bundle in her arms. "I don't think we should call him kid or whatever, though. He needs a name. That's my stipulation if you're going to make me take care of him."

She watches the man as he pulls his teeth over his lower lip for a thoughtful moment.

"Okay. What do you suggest?"

Emma wants to make him name the kid, but she realizes as she opens her mouth to complain that he would probably pick something ridiculous and she would end up naming it anyway. She looks back down at the baby and examines him.

"Henry." She looks back at him. "He looks like one at least."

The man nods. "Alright, Henry it is."

"You need to tell me your name, too." He stares at her with his lips pressed into a thin line. "I told you mine. He has one." Emma narrows her eyes. "Give me yours so I know which name to avoid for the rest of my life."

He chuckles darkly at her.

"Killian Jones," he says. "A pleasure." She rolls her eyes at the tone of his voice. "Rule number two: I have my set of tasks and chores and I will not be interrupted for any reason."

Emma sighs. "Fine by me."

Killian glances down at the floor. "You will sleep here, with Henry. There will be no complaining or whining of any sort, and you will stay here at all times. No venturing out onto the island on your own. Especially with that leg."

He gestures to her with his left hand… er, hook- how absurd is it that she’d managed to find one of the only people in the world with a hook for a hand?- and she sighs again.

"Okay, fine. Anything else you want to enforce, Captain Hook?"

He stares at her, gritting his teeth, and he gives his head a shake. "Keep out of my way and I think we'll be just fine for these four weeks."

She watches him, hand and hook, stand again, and she thinks for a moment that she's won something in the way he's moving out of the room with a vicious sort of walk.

It might be easier to loathe him if he weren't so ruggedly handsome.

She sighs as she looks down at Henry, giving him a tiny smile when he babbles a little bit. He does have a cute face and she kind of likes him, regardless of what she might have thought otherwise before.

Emma doesn't know what to do with Henry, so she just leaves him in his pile of pillows while she tries to figure out what the bowl and spoon Killian had set down for her are.

It's stew, she thinks, stirring the spoon around and taking a sniff of it. She decides that she's too hungry to protest his attempt at potentially poisoning her and inhales her food, listening to him slam things around in the kitchen.

She gets that he has a deal, because everyone always has a deal.

Hell, she has a deal. She doesn't like anyone getting close to her because if they do, she's afraid she'll hurt them, or they'll hurt her, and she cannot let that happen.

After she finishes the stew that tastes more like the can that it came from than anything else, she sets the bowl down on the table and winces as she pulls herself up to go change clothes.

She discovers clothes in the dresser of his room and throws the first thing she can find over her head, disregarding the dirtied shirt on top of the dresser for him to deal with. She takes the blanket and carries it with her to the sofa, where she turns the light off and somehow gets into a comfortable position with Henry at her feet.

She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, listening as Killian sits down at what must be a table in the kitchen, the chair making a loud screeching against the floor. He sighs and she hears a click, probably a beer, before the definite sound of him taking a sip.

Obnoxious man.

How she'll ever last four weeks with him is a mystery she isn't sure she's going to be able to live long enough to find out.

/

Killian sighs heavily as he pushes open the door to his lighthouse. It's on, the sweeping light blasting it's beams across the water and cutting through the foggy night, but he's not here to tend to the light that cuts through the darkness.

There is a wooden desk and chair that he sits at with a beer in hand. Perched atop the desk is his radio: his one and only method of communication with the outside world. Thoughtfully, Killian bites on his lower lip as he stares at it.

His supplies are running lower than usual and even with his emergency stashes of food and water, he's not sure he'll be able to keep them all alive for four weeks. Three human beings on one island, in one tiny house, had never been the plan.

Killian likes to think he knows right from wrong and that's why he's staring at his radio now. Within a few minutes, he could have Mister Smee well on his way toward him with blankets, food, and a plan for them to return to whence they came.

Determined, he grabs the radio and flips the on switch, listening as the radio garbles and hisses. If he does this, they'll both be home in no time, leaving him here all alone with his thoughts once more.

It's all he's ever needed, right?

For whatever reason, his chest tightens as he summons the courage to radio out. He can feel his heart begin to race, a throbbing swelling up in his ears while he waits for a reply.

Nothing. Silence.

If they don't leave now, he's stuck with them. He's stuck with taking care of them. Of allowing himself to feel something other than the emptiness he's clung to for these past few years.

Killian sits back in his chair. He takes his fingers through his hair and stares at the device. A wave of desperation washes over him, suddenly feeling as if he's being forced to do something he very much doesn't want to do.

He needs them gone. He can't keep them here.

So he calls again.

And he calls again.

And again.

Absolutely nothing.

In an instant, he is filled with rage. Furious, he grabs the radio from his desk and throws across the room, shattering it completely into pieces on the floor of his lighthouse.

Just as quickly as he'd lashed out, he realizes his fault with tears burning behind his eyes. Killian closes his eyes tight, willing himself to find his calm even if he feels like he's teetering over the edge of an emotional breakdown.

He tugs open the lower drawer of his desk for the rum. He needs something just a little bit stronger if he's going to make it through the night.

#cs ff #cs au #my writing #dark gray #captain swan #hi it's getting late but I needed to post this today! #love you guys!!

[harryscumcloth]

I Don’t Wanna Love You Anymore

Here she is.. part 2 of Malibu Nights. I decided to finish it last night after months of procrastinating. I’d like to thank my angel @harrysonlyangelsss, Lauren, for putting up with me through the whole ordeal because I know I’ve been an absolute nightmare.

Contains 6.4k of: angst, heartbreak, alcohol, fuck boy and cry baby content.

December 22nd, 2015 continued

“Harry… I can explain.” 

***

An hour had passed since he read the text message and she had yet to receive a response. Harry wasn’t a champion texter, he usually took his time or would forget to respond due to being a busy man, but there was no way that he could be busy on an airplane and there was zero chance that he had fallen asleep either. She sent text after text in hopes of him responding to at least one of them, but he never did. 

The delicate skin around her eyes became swollen and blotchy from the excessive amount of sobbing over the few hours prior. Her back leaned against the lower area of the sofa as she sat on the cool hardwood floor with her knees pulled to her chest. The sleeves of her hoodie were dampened with tears, turning the ash grey color to a dim grey. The sofa cushion supported the weight of her head while she tightly shut her eyes to relieve pressure and swiftly drifted off into a deep slumber.

Harry’s back fit the form of the chair as he sat halfway in his seat with his elbows on the rests, his ass almost hanging off the end and his leg holding him up while the other remained crossed at his knee. With each grey chat bubble that appeared, the worse the stinging in his eyes became.

His watering eyes were shielded by a hefty pair of sunglasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. He held his head low as he racked his mind looking for the signs. Y/N might have been oblivious to his feelings towards her, but Zayn for sure wasn’t. They had never shown an interest in each other and Harry often even confided in Zayn about his feelings towards Y/N, to which Zayn always said, “Mate, she’s into you.” 

It was infuriating to Harry to hear the nature of the songs Zayn had written about her. This was the girl he was in love with and it seemed as if Zayn used her for his own personal gain. 

That night, she was his plus one at the event. She had always been reluctant to attend outings with him because of his social status and the crazy fans, but for an unknown reason, she accepted this invitation. He didn’t probe for an explanation to why she agreed to join him on that occasion, he was just overly delighted at her acceptance, but he never imagined that his two best mates would hook up that night.

December 29th, 2015 

The past week, he arrived home in Holmes Chapel. Anne noticed his demeanor was different than usual, being uptight and snappy. He was on edge at all times and although she worried gravely about him, she didn’t feel right questioning him of bad vibe she felt. If he wanted to talk about it, he would, and that’s how she thought of it. 

The vibrations from Harry’s phone on the table shook the water in their glasses. She paused mid chew, glancing up at him with narrowing eyes and wrinkled brows. Their eyes met with Anne staring fixedly at him. “Can’t it wait? We’re in the middle of dinner.” 

He held the phone up, the black screen with the caller ID showing Jeff’s name. “I have to take it.” He excused himself from the dining table, scurrying off down the hall and into the bathroom. 

“Hello?” His voice was low, as if he was sneaking a call like back in primary school. 

“Harry? Why are you whispering?” Jeff’s voice rang through the speaker.

“I’m not whispering. I’m having dinner with my mum and I got the ‘stare’ so I came to the loo to talk. What is it?” 

“I know you’re on holiday... but would you be interested in signing another three month contract?” Harry’s response hadn’t come fast enough before Jeff continued his rambling. 

“I think It would be great for you, you know more screen time, more endorsements, more pay, the whole lot. Especially with Dunkirk coming up, it would benefit you greatly.” 

Harry’s forehead dropped into his palm. His eyes shut tightly before taking a deep breath. Jeff’s voice came through once again, “I guess I should probably mention that I already gave them your word…” 

“Why would you do that? Did I not make it clear that I was over it?” Harry’s jaw was clenched, his teeth gritting together. His cheeks flushed pink with frustration towards Jeff. The last time was supposed to be the last time.

He threw his head back as he plopped down onto the toilet seat, feeling defeated and hopeless. It felt like a never ending cycle of drama that no one understood or knew the half of. He kept it to himself, never letting a negative thought slip from his tongue.

“You know if I say no now, I could be blacklisted, right?” A deep sigh fell from his lips, “I was trying to leave on a good note so I wouldn’t be dismantled like everyone they come into contact with, but that doesn’t seem to be reasonable, does it?” He ended the call directly after the last word passed through his lips. His mind threatened to launch the phone through the thin wall, but instead it was gripped tightly in his hand while he blew steam from his nose.

Harry always respected Jeff, but he often felt like Jeff didn’t have his best interest at heart, and sometimes he didn’t even give Harry an option for what he wanted to do. 

Anne’s eyes were trained on him as he returned to the dinner table with a flustered look upon his face. He kept his attention on the ground as he walked, not wanting to see her wide curious eyes. She waited for him to settle in his seat once again, watching as he slumped into his chair. 

“S’everything alright?” 

He tried his best to avoid eye contact when he came back to the dining room, but he knew he would eventually look at her. He used his thumb nail to pick at the remaining black polish that coated his nail beds as he desperately tried to avoid the conversation. 

“Don’t you ignore me Harry. Now what is the matter?” Her stern voice grew loud, demanding answers from the now frightened man. 

“I’m renewing my contract with K...” his voice trembled and was hardly audible. She heard him loud and clear though.

He was ashamed. He was ashamed to tell his mother that he had put himself in a position to be miserable for another three months. It was Jeff’s fault, but Harry was never one to blame him because he could’ve said no if he wanted to and had Jeff to relay the message, but Harry felt that it was best to stick with the word that was already given. What would another three months of his life hurt? 

Anne couldn’t hold her feelings back any longer. She was bewildered and needed to know what the deal was. Her lips closed tightly and tucked inwards as she was dumbfounded by his statement. 

“Please fill me in on what it is that has you running back to this girl over and over? Let me in on the secrets because I’m dying to know.” The sarcasm in Anne’s voice showed she had never been fond of K since the very beginning. 

He was only the mere age of 19 and had just gotten out on his own when trouble found him. Of course, in his mind he was grown and didn’t need guidance from his mother anymore. The whole scene was fishy to Anne and she knew her son always wore his heart on his sleeve for anyone to up and grab, if only it had been a different someone. 

“Because at one point I did love her, mum. She was great and we got on really well but it’s only been just an arrangement to her.” His elbows rested on top of the table, dropping his fork and knife onto his plate. He stooped down into his chair as Anne looked at him with a scornful look. 

“That family is no good and you know it. It’s time for you two to part ways once and for all.” Her pointer finger was aimed directly at him, scolding him as if he were a child. “It’s only going to hurt you in the end.” 

She cut a small bite sized portion from her steak, jabbing it with the fork and pushing it past her teeth. She became irritated at Harry, letting the fork scrape against her teeth as she snatched it from her mouth in anger. 

“I hate letting people down and you know that.” His eyes were pleading for his mother’s approval, one he would never receive. “It’s only for three months and I will make it clear that I’m done this time.” 

Anne removed the cloth from her lap and gently patted around her mouth and tossed it onto the table before speaking again. “Harry, what about Y/N, hmm?” She smacked her lips together while clasping her hands together. “You’d be letting her down. She absolutely adores you and I just wish I could get it through that thick skull of yours.” 

The palms of his hands immediately covered his face. “Mum… she slept with Zayn.” His words were muffled by his hands and he was afraid to speak any louder. 

Anne pushed her plate towards the middle of the table and sat with her elbow propped with her her chin in the palm of her hand. Her fingers brushed over her lips gently as she noticed her son becoming uncomfortable before her. “Sweetie, I can’t understand you with your hands over your mouth.” 

Harry glared at his mother and her nonchalant expression. He didn’t reveal his lips when speaking, he only allowed the words to form through the tight spaces between his fingers. 

“Y/N slept with Zayn.” 

“You’re shitting me right now, right?” She pushed away from the table with her back hitting the chair harshly, her jaw hung and her eyes bugged. “When did this happen?” 

“It was her first and his last time at an event and it happened right under my nose.” His fingers picked the threads on the ragged edge of his napkin, trying to avoid eye contact in that moment. “I was asking around, trying to see if anyone knew where she was because I was finally going to tell her but she was nowhere to be found. And honestly, I never saw it coming. Zayn didn’t even care to mention his breakup with Perrie. I mean, everyone knew he was acting strange but we thought it was just Zayn being Zayn. He never really cared about me and it’s really starting to show now.” It became word vomit, his thoughts never ending and Anne not being able to get a syllable in between.

He inhaled a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t even know what she is thinking half of the time. She’s almost always quiet, the only time she actually showed me a part of her was when we almost---” his eyes grew wide when the realization hit that it was his mother he was talking to and he didn’t want to inform her of that, “when we… got wasted.”

His eyes scanned his mother’s face, hoping she hadn’t noticed and that it was a good save on his part. Although he is ‘grown’, he still wouldn’t want his mother to know that part of his life. “Other than that, she won’t let me in. She knows everything about me and I’m only allowed to know what she wants me to know about her so how am I supposed to bloody know if she is right for me?” 

“She doesn’t owe you anything about her life. You can only be mad at yourself for being foolish enough to tell someone your entire life story. You just be thankful it was told to someone like her and not someone who would be willing to ruin you the first chance they were offered a deal.” She slid her hand underneath his unusually warm palm, gripping his fingers and feeling the dampness of his clammy hands while rubbing her thumb across his bare knuckles. 

“Baby listen to me,” she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, “I’m sure she didn’t do it with the intention of hurting you in her mind. You know I’m all for Y/N, I absolutely adore her as I’ve already said, but she’s clueless more often than not and that’s not taking a dig at her.”  

He was blinded for so long that he never realized that she had no knowledge of his feelings for her. They both had become excellent at hiding things from each other.

December 31st, 2015 

It had been a week and a half since they saw the interview. She stopped sending texts after a full 24 hours of not receiving a single response from him. He was acting very childish, the fact that he was choosing to ignore her instead of discussing the issue and trying to get past it. She wept for days when she realized their friendship was possibly over and that he might never forgive her. Although she felt that she did no wrong because they were just friends and nothing more, she still cried. It was worse than a breakup.

It was New Years Eve and her only plans were to watch reruns of Gossip Girl on her laptop and finish the two pints of Ben & Jerry's assorted ice cream flavors that she had delivered to her through post-mates, starting with the Cookies & Cream Cheesecake Core and ending with the Chunky Monkey. She snuggled into a fuzzy black throw blanket with her legs and feet folded underneath her. The laptop was balanced on the edge of the arm rest while she held the pint and the spoon. Her eyes were trained on the screen, only leaving every so often to glance at the emptying carton. 

Three hours, two pints of ice cream, and one stomach ache later, she was resting uncomfortably as her belly protruded past it’s normal state. Her hand rubbed gentle circles around her navel in an attempt to calm the rumbles. She was miserably stuffed and couldn’t bear to watch another episode during that moment. The sunlight went away hours ago and she was left laying in the dark with only the faint light shining from the screen of her laptop. 

The loud pops and crackling sounds from the early fireworks held her eyes wide open. How could she possibly sleep a wink with all the ruckus outside of her window? She forcefully shut the laptop closed and tossed the blanket to the floor, trudging over to the window to see the culprits being a group of rowdy teens from her building. She desperately wanted to yell profanities down to them but she figured it would only make the situation worse if she were to say something, like them shooting one up towards her window or possibly vandalizing her car. Her attention lingered on the group for a second longer before the jarring sound of her doorbell filled the apartment, startling her and nearly causing her to jump through the ceiling. 

It was close to 9 o’clock at night and she was skeptical about who would be at her door this late, considering she didn’t really socialize with anyone anymore. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her face against the cool door, squinting her right eye to peek through the peephole. Her old roommates, Kate and Ava, stood there with wide and charming smiles. 

“Open up bitch!” Kate’s voice was high pitched and sure to echo throughout the short narrow hallway.

She fell back onto her heels, shaking her head in disbelief while she fumbled with the locks before finally twisting the knob and opening the door. They barreled past her, each going in a different direction and surrounding her on either side, the loud clacks from their stilettos ricocheted off the blank white walls of her small apartment. Their smiles soon turned to frowns as they saw Y/N’s unruly appearance. 

 Her noticeably unwashed hair was tied into a high matted bun. A thick layer of rheum had gathered along the lash lines of her heavy, swollen eyelids. The skin upon her face was dull and spotted with blemishes. “Ew,” they said in unison, their frowns stretching further down their faces as their noses scrunched, “What happened?”

She stood with her arms crossed, ready to defend her appearance. “I don’t look that bad.” Her shoulders slumped with their expressions, “You’re over exaggerating.” 

Truth is, she had become accustomed to seeing herself in the mirror over the past week and she hadn’t noticed the deep purple rings below her eyes, or the lifeless skin that sat upon her face. Their lips were pursed together as they waited for an explanation that they didn’t actually care for. 

“I’m not—” Ava raised her hand to stop Y/N’s sentence.

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter! We are going to get you all dolled up and make you forget all about your problems lovie. Just wait.” 

How could she so easily forget the thoughts that had consumed her mind for the last nine days?

They each grabbed an arm and forced her into the bathroom before she could refuse their help, stripping her of the unpleasant clothing and leading her to the shower. She stood beneath the warm stream of water wetting her hair when she remembered that Harry had finished the last dollop of shampoo from the bottle the morning he left. Her eyes darted around, unsure of how to mention it without her appearing too unkempt, she eyed the bottle of pomegranate body wash she always used.

Kate chuckled when drew shower curtain back, popping her head into the shower. “Make sure you shave everything!” The laughter became contagious as Y/N and Ava joined in.

****

 Although the girls worked with quickness, the process was tedious. Y/N became dizzy as they switch sections rapidly. Kate went from makeup to nails, and Ava went from hair  to clothes. After an hour and a half of grooming her to what they considered to be acceptable, she was nearly unrecognizable as the girl they had just seen at her worst. 

Her hair was neat and straight, the tiny knots of hair that had been snipped sat upon the counter. She was clad in her favorite little off the shoulder black dress, the one that ended mid thigh and accentuated her curves nicely, while showing only the perfect amount of cleavage. Ava was barely able to get it zipped up in the back from Y/N recently eating her weight in ice cream. 

“Red is your color babe,” Kate said as she put the last top coat on her pinky nail. 

****

A little before midnight, they wound up at Moonie’s, a popular bar and grill joint located on the corner of 7th, approximately three blocks from their old apartment, and a place that they were all too familiar with. Moonie’s was known for its delicious burgers and the variety of frozen margaritas… and the cute bartender of course. 

It wasn’t a large building by any means, but it had enough space for the bar counter, ten stools, a line of booths against the windows and a set against the wall, and a small kitchen in the back. A joint bathroom was located off to the side of the kitchen and what happens in that bathroom, stays in that bathroom — it’s even written in sharpie on the inside of the entry door. There was enough room for 30 people or so in the middle of the floor where the dim lights hung and the dirtiest of dancing happened.

They were only 18 their first time going, legally not able to drink, but luckily, being overly persuasive was Ava’s strong suit. She batted her lashes while sweet-talking him and had drinks rolling their way in no later than three minutes tops. She still claims those three minutes as her personal best. From that night on, they only went on the Saturday nights that he was scheduled to work and never had to worry about needing a valid I.D.

“You should move back in, you know.” Kate lifted her newly full glass to her lips, taking another large swig and gulping it down. “It’s closer to your job,” she paused, “and your friends,” she motioned her hands between Ava and herself, “and plus, rent would be a lot cheaper.” 

Y/N stared into the bottom of her empty glass, stirring the ice cubes with the tiny black stirrer, “I enjoy being on my own though.” She looked up to face them, “I mean… I loved living with you guys, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like I’m at a point in my life where I need my own space.. And besides, Malibu isn’t that bad. It’s a little lonely sometimes… maybe I could get a dog or something.” 

When Y/N was planning to move to Los Angeles after graduating, she came across an apartment ad on Craigslist of two girls that were looking for a third roommate. It wasn’t in the greatest neighborhood, but it was all she could afford at that time and it was safer than living on her own, being new to the area and all. Kate and Ava quickly became two of her best friends and she shared an apartment with them for a year before she had saved enough money to move to Malibu, like she had always dreamed of doing. 

They ordered another round of drinks and chatted a little longer before Kate and Ava stumbled over to the dance floor. Seeing as how Y/N wasn’t much of a dancer, having two left feet and not an ounce of rhythm in her body, she stayed seated at the bar as she was far too drunk to stand. She held her head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone, she laid her phone down on the bar top and began scrolling. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular as she was just trying to seem busy and uninterested, but she came across something she didn’t expect to see… ever again.

An article on a popular gossip site showed “Hendall” was spotted on a yacht in St. Barth’s earlier that day, when he was supposed to be home spending time with his family, not with her and her family. The pictures of them cuddling and kissing were enough to make her sick, but the last picture she saw, induced vomiting. She had the ring Y/N bought Harry for Christmas linked onto her necklace. She quickly hopped from the stool, her ankle twisted at the harsh contact with the ground. She barely made it to the garbage can before spilling her stomach's contents inside. Her hands held her steady on the rim of the can as she retched over it. 

A gentleman helped her into a booth, where she laid her head against the cool table and let the tears fall. Her breaths came out in rapid pants while she rested her mind before she staggered back over to the bar. She picked her glass up and gulped the last bit of her drink down, dialing Harry’s number and immediately reaching his voicemail. The tears were starting to dry on her face when she had an idea. She threw her head back and a wicked laugh pushed its way passed her red smudged lips. It was a laugh full of pain.

She found herself in the bathroom, gripping onto the edge of the grimy porcelain sink to hold herself up. Her adrenaline was way too high for her to notice the swelling and throbbing coming from her sprained ankle. She pressed her back against the vandalized door, using it for guidance as she slid down to sit on the filthy bathroom floor. She dialed his number once more and the pace of her heart rate heightened when she heard the automated message tone. 

She was really going to do it. 

*** 

He requested his own suite in the hotel, but for the sake of the stunt, he was held up in K’s until 4 a.m. Harry slipped from within K’s grip, searching for his phone on the nightstand and crept towards the door. He carefully opened and shut the door, only a small click being heard, and scurried off across the hall to his own. He held down the button on the side of his phone to power it back on, all of his messages and notifications popping up at once. He sat on the edge of the bed, skimming through the texts and call log expecting to see her name, and there it was. Two missed calls with two voicemails. He knew they were from her, no doubt about it. 

The only time she was ever vocal about her feelings was when she was pissed off. He sat with his elbow resting on his knee and his bottom lip pulled between his two fingers while his eyes burned a hole through the wall. 

“......... Harrrrry?”

He could tell immediately that she was completely wasted by the way she said his name. 

“Sooo you lied to me so you could be with her again? She’s wearing the ring that I gave you. Do you know how long it took me to find something that I thought was decent enough to get for you? I was worried that you would end up getting it before I had a chance to buy it. Then what would I have done, huh? Do you know what I had to sacrifice to get you that ring and you let that bitch wear it? I gave up getting my nails done. I gave up my usual bottle of wine and settled for cheap shit for you. I went without my morning coffee for a month so I could put that money in my dumb Harry fund. That’s totally fucked up. You can take that ring and shove it so far up your——” Her message was cut short early of the two minute mark.

His stomach was twisted in knots after hearing how delirious she was, the shakiness of her voice combined with small giggles that held no humor behind them. He opened the next one, a continuation of the first.

“You know what? I’m done with you Harrrrry Styles. You two deserve each other and nothing more. I deserve better and I’m going to find that. Good thing I’m at Moonie’s ‘cause what happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom, righttttt?” 

He was torn to pieces by the last sentence that she spoke.

March 29th, 2016

“Bean, please. We need to talk.”

She exited from his message and dropped the phone into her cluttered purse. She recently turned the read receipts on for the not so subtle hint to be given that she wasn’t interested in having a conversation. The sudden wave of messages were taunting compared to the few she had gotten every now and again from him, asking how she was doing or if she was okay but she couldn’t bring herself to reply.  

It was a daily struggle with fighting the urge to shoot him a text, wondering how he was or if things were going well for him but she was stubborn and didn’t want to appear weak by giving in. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she still cared and ignored him completely. Keeping her mind occupied was something she strived for everyday, but he was making it more difficult than it needed to be. Harry’s sudden need to talk to her started to become an issue but she couldn’t bring herself to block his number. After all, he was her best friend and she still loved him. 

Her nosy coworker had been peeking at her over the dividing wall of the cubicle all day. It was obvious that she had something to say or had a question she wanted to ask, but she was too timid. 

“What can I help you with, Lia?” 

Lia quickly responded, “Did you hear? He’s here in LA today.” Her arms were folded on the top of the wall, her chin rested over them.

Y/N wasn’t sure what Lia’s intention was with mentioning his whereabouts but she was able to keep her composure and stay calm, even if it was a poorly executed facade. 

“Of course I heard. I’m very aware,” Y/N replied nonchalantly, furiously continuing to type with her fingers slamming against the keyboard. The rapid clicking sounds brought everyone’s eyes towards her, but she was unaware of being the center of attention.

Unfollowing him on all social media was utterly pointless because she still heard about him wherever she went. Whether it be the grocery store, the library, a gas station, anywhere. His pictures were plastered on every news stand, magazine, billboard, TV, even on the side of the damn Gucci store. She couldn’t escape the man that had intentionally caused her so much pain.

She hated that Lia had been placed next to her at work as there were plenty of other spots for her to be. She pestered her everyday about something that was small or irrelevant to their duties, but something that she hated even more about her was what she knew. Months ago, Y/N’s phone began to buzz while she was out of the room and Lia took it upon herself to peek at it. At the time, Y/N’s lock screen was a picture of her and Harry from when they had gone to Vegas for her 21st birthday, and she was bombarded with questions the second that she reentered the room. 

Lia began to speak, “Do you thi-” 

Y/N slammed her palms down on the desk, silencing Lia immediately. “Mind your own fucking business Lia! Stop bothering me! Stop asking about Harry! I don’t know anything about Harry! Here, call him! FaceTime him! Get his number, I don’t care!” She shoved her phone in Lia’s face, who instantly backed down with tears welling in her eyes, sitting in her seat once more. Y/N was breathing rapidly, soon noticing all eyes were on her now. She had never been vicious with anyone before, she didn’t know what had washed over her. She was just as embarrassed as Lia was, if not more. 

"I'm...sorry," Lia sheepishly sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand and sinking deeper into her chair.

“S’fine.” Y/N quietly accepted the apology while rubbing circles on her temples. She knew exactly what she needed at that point.

****

Once the clock hit 5, she rushed out of the building to the parking garage, finding her car and getting inside. Immediately tears of resentment fell as she pounded her hands on the steering wheel, letting out a groan and strings of profanity that had been suppressed for hours. Her mind had become an exhausting place to be stuck in and she desperately wanted to escape it.  

The worst part about living in Malibu was the commute to and from work in LA. It was an hour and some minutes before traffic was added in, and close to two hours afterwards. Though it wasn’t all terrible, the games that she would play on the drive home were quite entertaining and made the time pass by quicker. There were days when she would try to decipher customized license plates and others where she would guess what song drivers were dancing to. It was crucial that she always made it home in time for her nightly routine of meditating and watching the sun set out on the balcony. Her mind was full and her heart was heavy on the drive home that day. She didn’t want to play her games while being stuck in traffic, she didn’t feel like listening to her favorite playlist, she just wanted to forget about everything and everyone.

***

She parked in front of the local liquor store near her apartment; the one she had visited multiple times a week and happened to be on a first name basis with the night clerk, Gayle. She sat in her car, staring at the old rustic walls on the outside of the shop and recollecting all the nights that she had spent crying on Gayle’s shoulder. 

The two of them had become close after Harry had left, Y/N even started to see her as a mother figure. Gayle didn’t have any children and Y/N’s mother was hours away, so it was a mutual bond. The nights that Y/N spent crying on her shoulder, were the nights that she learned everything about Y/N, everything that Harry didn't know. 

She hadn’t stopped there in over a month and she wasn’t sure why she was there now, but her gut was trying to stop her. As she stepped out of the car, glancing up at the big neon sign, her heartbeat picked up a rapid pace along with her stomach doing somersaults inside. She stood at the door for a split second before finally pushing in and walking inside. The familiar smell of mint and old wooden floors entered her nose, instantly making her queasy. She stood fiddling with the keys as she gave a quick look around before spotting Gayle at the counter.

“Welcome back, Y/N!” Her smile was warm and inviting, nearly covering half of her face. “Haven’t seen you in… Darling, is something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Gayle showed a worried expression at the sight of Y/N’s face.

Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows drew together, leaving a glistening look in her eyes. “Hi Gayle. I know… It has been a while, yeah? I’ve been busy with… work.” She playfully returned the small talk, her hands still nervously twisting at the keys. Her feet were nailed to the ground, every fiber of her being telling her not to enter further.

“Anything specific that I can help you with?” Gayle’s glasses were perched on the tip of her nose as she leaned across the counter on her elbows. “I’m ready to help if you need me, but I’m positive you know this place better than I do anyways.” 

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, but it didn’t help with the creakiness of her voice. “Actually, I-,” she cleared her throat once more, “I think I still have some at home. Might’ve just overlooked it.” She reached for the door, ready to dash back to the car, but Gayle’s voice stopped her in her tracks. 

“Y/N? Can you call me sometime? I get worried about you and… I don’t want to intrude on your life. Just whenever you have time, if you will.” Gayle’s small loving smile gave a familiar warmth in Y/N’s chest. 

“Of course.” And with a nod, she was gone.

***

Her anxiety lowered quite a bit by the time she arrived home. Her shoes were off of her feet, hooked and dangling from her finger as she sauntered down the hall. She counted her steps as she went, mumbling the numbers under her breath. The moment she entered through her door, she tossed the shoes into the corner as always, the pile of shoes growing larger each day. 

After not having eaten the entire day, a loud rumble erupted from her stomach. Her mouth salivated at the thought of a large pepperoni pizza from Pop’s Pizzeria. Her finger traced the numbers on the menu as she dialed, placing the order to be delivered. The dryness in her throat became an itch she sought to relieve with a glass of water. She walked to the kitchen and went straight for the cabinet that no longer held Harry’s personal stash. Although, his favorite glass still remained in the back… out of sight and out of mind. 

She was in no hurry to rid herself from her clothing. Instead, she picked up her laptop and put her playlist on to play before she stepped outside onto the balcony. The sun began to set with pinks and purples across the horizon, a slight breeze rattling the pages of the magazines that resided on the patio table for the past month. She sat with her legs crossed beneath her and the laptop rested in her lap while tune of I Don’t Wanna Love You Anymore filled the apartment. A web page which contained apartment listings in various cities was automatically shown on the screen from her last search. 

She bobbed her head along to the tapping of her fingers to the beat, lightly muttering the lines, 

Sick of staring up at the ceiling

How'd you change your mind just like that?

The only way to get past this feeling

Is to tell myself you're not coming back.

After getting fed up with virtual tours of the apartments and finding locations, she switched to Pinterest for interior ideas, quickly falling into a hole and losing track of time. The ragged sound of the doorbell startled her, pulling her out of the black hole she had fallen into on the website. She rushed to the door, stopping and snatching her wallet from her purse on the counter, not even thinking to check before opening it. It was swung open by an overly eager Y/N, not able to contain the excitement for the pizza that had consumed her mind the for most of the day. 

The rumbling of her stomach quit, her appetite vanishing instantly. Her posture stiffened, her joyous smile fading as a sudden coldness filled her core as she took sight of the person that stood on the other side of the door. 

“Hi angel.” 

#harry styles #malibu nights #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #heartbreak #one direction fanfic

[ericsonclan]

Annoyance Blossoming into Trust

Summary: Prisha is given the order to join ranks with another assassin.

Read on AO3:

Prisha felt the wind blow against her skin as her hood fluttered. Her legs dangled from the rooftop, lazily swaying back and forth. It had been six months since that day. The day she had finally fulfilled her reason for joining the Order. She still could recall the feeling of relief and emptiness as she slit that man’s throat. The one who had taken everything away from her: her family, her hope, her joy. When the blood spilled out, his lifeblood pooling around his body, Prisha had realized something. She had gotten her revenge and thus had completed the one thing driving her forward. Now that months had passed every mission felt pointless, empty hours being filled by the countless bodies she left in her wake. There had to be something more than this. Or was this how the rest of her days would play out? Before her mind could continue to go down that train of thought, a messenger pigeon landed beside her. On its chest it held a note, no doubt from the Order. Reaching forward and unbinding the letter, Prisha read it, her eyes widening.

Meet a contact for a new relocation Near the town square by the abandoned church.

Prisha rose, stretching her legs for a moment before running towards the edge of the rooftop, leaping across to land onto the next one. It only took her a matter of minutes to reach the location assigned in the message. Landing gracefully onto the ground, she made her way over to the hooded figure, her guard up in case it wasn’t one of the Brotherhood.

“Nothing is true,” she stated, staring at the eyes hooded in front of her.

“Everything is permitted.” a gruff voice replied, tossing off their hood. An older man stood before her, waiting for her to show the same respect he had just done for her. She obliged, pulling back her hood, a strand of hair falling down when she did so. “You’ve been reassigned to a new section of the Order. There you will meet your partner,” His words caused Prisha’s expression to change. A wave of surprise washed over her. Never before in her years of being an assassin had she heard of assassins teaming up with one another. At least not for more than a single mission. Did this mean that the Order thought that she was worthy of trust? A hint of pride burned inside her when she thought about it like that.

“Follow me.” the man added, pulling forward his hood once more. Prisha followed suit, climbing up the side of the building with ease. It was a long journey to get to the new city she had been assigned which turned out to be different from the one she was previously assigned to. The new city was vast, stretching far further in all directions than the latter one had. It was filled with more people which meant it felt more lively, each street bustling with life. The commoners talked and laughed as they did their daily shopping in the marketplace. The other assassin continued his journey towards the destination. Prisha was right behind him.

I wonder who my partner could be? Maybe someone who has been with the Order for a while. Maybe they’ll mentor me in hopes that I’ll become a more capable assassin. Her feet ran across the rooftops when the assassin stopped for a moment.

“Over here,” He motioned towards a rope that was connected between two of the roofs. Swiftly he ran across it, making it look easy. Prisha hadn’t really had to deal with something like this in her old location. It took her a minute to get used to it, stumbling slightly when she crossed. Cursing internally at her sign of weakness, she continued to follow the older assassin until he jumped down to the streets below and leaned against an alley wall. Prisha joined him, stopping to scan the area for her partner. Her eyes were filled with confusion however when she noticed no one was here save for what looked like a twelve year old girl in a hood.

“Where’s my partner?” Prisha glanced over at the man who gave a smug look. His head motioned towards the younger child.

“That’s her.” At his words the kid took off her hood revealing curly dark brown hair and golden brown eyes. Her eyes studied Prisha, hardening when she noticed that Prisha wasn’t doing her the same courtesy that she had shown. Prisha was in utter shock. The Order wanted her to be partners with this child? She wasn’t much older when she had joined the Order. What was the point of this partnership?

“Your hood,” The girl’s voice was calm but commanding, her expression cold as she stared towards Prisha. Prisha reluctantly took off her hood. The two studied each other for a minute before the older assassin kicked off from the wall.

“What is the meaning of this?” Prisha asked, her voice coated with frustration. Did they really think this little of her?

“The Order wants to test out your potential,”

My potential? As what? A glorified babysitter?

He rummaged through his cloaks before revealing a message and handing it to Prisha. “Hopefully you two are worth the effort.”

Without another word the man disappeared, leaving the two younger assassins confused and annoyed at their orders. Letting out an annoyed groan, Prisha unraveled the message. Her eyes fell in frustration when she saw what it was. A simple pickpocketing.

“Let’s go,” Prisha motioned for the younger girl to follow her. After a few steps forward, Prisha noticed that the girl wasn’t following her. “What are you doing?”

“Why should you be in charge?” the girl asked in a completely serious tone that made Prisha freeze.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. We’re partners, yet you’re acting like you’re in charge just because you’re older.”

Prisha felt anger swirl in her heart at those words. “How long have you been with the Order?” Prisha asked, her arms crossed.

“Six months,” Clementine’s words made the anger and annoyance in Prisha build higher.

They stuck me with an amateur.

The girl’s face twisted in irritation when she looked at Prisha’s expression.

“I’m not an amateur.”

“Whatever, we need to move. We have a mission.” Prisha turned around once more when the girl spoke up.

“Your name,”

Prisha glanced back at her.

“What is it?”

“Prisha. Yours?”

“Clementine.”

“Now that the pleasantries are done, we can go.” Prisha walked forward, her very core overflowing with annoyance. Clementine followed close behind her. The two hooded figures weaved their way through the city until they got to the location the message had mentioned. Prisha stopped, looking towards the target that was assigned. She motioned towards her partner and they made their way towards him, tracking him for a while before they were in a secluded section of the city. Prisha looked around the area turning her head around to check to make sure no civilians were nearby. Then she looked at the streets nearby to make sure they were empty. With the area being thoroughly checked she turned her attention back towards her partner.

“Alright, this is a simple pickpocketing mission. Go over there and get the information that’s hidden in his right pocket.” Prisha instructed.

Clementine looked over in annoyance. “Really? A pickpocketing mission? I thought we were going to kill him.”

“We will not kill him. The Order only wants his information, not his life.”

Clementine tossed forward a scroll of paper.

“I already got it,” Clementine mumbled. “Wish it was an aassassination.'' Her words made Prisha look over in frustration. She leaned over, picking up the information. She felt an odd mixture of annoyance at her partner for being so rash while at the same time being impressed that she had pulled it off with ease.

“We only do as we’re told.” Prisha led the way to the information dropoff location. Why am I stuck with her? Maybe it’s only for a mission. It took a mere matter of minutes for the pair to make it to the messenger pigeons, attach the information to it and set it free on its course. The two of them looked at each other, hoping that this was the end of their partnership.

But the Order had other plans. This wasn’t going to be a temporary partnership but rather one for many years if they continued to produce results. Neither of them wanted to slack off and look unprofessional or incompetent and so the duo continued to work together. While they butted heads, each of them getting under the other’s skin, they still produced excellent results. Prisha had never seen such a capable young assassin. It was a bit jarring to see such a jaded twelve year old. Clementine eerily reminded her of her past self. Driven by some purpose, cutting down people left and right without remorse. Prisha honestly didn’t know how different she was from Clementine now. The pair’s success continued to bring new missions towards them until one day they hadn’t received any. They were instead forced to spend some time together that wasn’t mission-oriented.

Prisha leaned against a wall, sheathing and unsheathing her hidden blade. The repetitive noise was making Clementine’s head ache.

“Stop it,”

Prisha looked over at her partner.

Clementine sat in the corner glaring at her. “It’s annoying.”

Prisha dramatically sheathed her hidden blade once more before staring off. Was this really how it was going to be indefinitely? Neither of them were happy with this arrangement. Prisha doubted they ever would be. All this time she had proven herself, taking on whatever mission the Order wanted, and this is what she ended up with. The two sat in irritated silence until Clementine rose.

“There’s no need to stick around, I’ll see you at the inn.”

Without any confirmation Clementine disappeared into the streets leaving Prisha alone with her thoughts. She stayed in the alleyway killing time until it was evening. Kicking her leg off the wall she walked towards the inn. Hoping that they could get a room for the night and end this dreadful day. It only took them a few minutes to get to their room and shut off the lights. Prisha laid in her bed, her mind too full of ideas for it to rest for the day. Suddenly out of the corner of her eyes she noticed movement in the other bed. Remaining still, she watched as Clementine snuck out of her bed and silently opened the door. Where the hell is she heading?

Slipping out of the room herself, Prisha followed her partner. Even though Clementine was so confident and cocky in her skill she was still a child. Her abilities said as much, making it easier to track her. Prisha figured she’d follow her to prove to her that she wasn’t anything special and hopefully knock her ego down a peg or two. Clementine slid into an alley, jumping onto a few barrels and scurrying up a building. Prisha followed her, disappearing into the shadows whenever Clementine’s eyes desperately searched around to make sure she wasn't followed. Why is she this paranoid about being tailed?

Clementine continued on her path towards her destination, stopping in front of an abandoned building before jumping through a shattered window. Prisha waited a moment then followed the same path. Sneaking through the building, she stopped when she noticed what had made Clementine so paranoid. There standing in the center of the room was Clementine holding a baby. Is this where she’s been disappearing off to all those times? Prisha felt herself freeze for a moment, giving Clementine a chance to see her.

“Who’s there?” Clementine’s voice wavered as she stood in a defensive stance while cradling the baby. Prisha walked out from the shadows, causing Clementine’s eyes to widen in recognition. “Prisha? How the hell-”

“I tracked you.” Prisha stated simply, walking towards the pair. Her heart stopped for a moment when she realized that it was a baby boy. A memory tugged at the back of her mind of when she used to hold her younger brother in her arms.

“You… Are you going to report this to the Order?” Clementine’s eyes danced with protective fear as her arms tightened around the bundle. Prisha looked at her partner who looked terrified by her own question. It was understandable: the Order wanted all strong bonds to be severed when you joined. Your loyalty belonged to the Assassins and the Assassins alone. It was clear that she cared about the baby; perhaps it was her brother? A sharp, painful feeling entered Prisha’s heart at the remembrance of what it was like to have a younger sibling.

“No, I won’t,” Prisha’s answer made Clementine relax slightly. “Is he your brother?”

“Not by blood,” Clementine responded. A warm smile played on her lips when she looked down at the baby. “But he’s all I have. When I joined the Order I knew if they found out that they would separate us. If that happened…” Clementine’s voice cracked, her eyes getting teary at the thought. Her breath was shaky as she tried to recenter herself. “I won’t let it happen.” Her eyes burned with a fierce determination that resonated with Prisha.

Taking another step forward, another question escaped Prisha’s lips. “What’s his name?”

“AJ.”

“AJ… May I hold him?” Prisha wasn’t sure how her partner would respond to her request. Hesitantly Clementine nodded, gently placing the bundle in Prisha’s arms. Prisha stood cradling the baby as overwhelming emotions washed over her. “I promise I will not tell a soul,” Prisha looked directly into Clementine’s eyes. The genuine look in her eyes set Clementine’s heart at ease. As the partners stood in the abandoned room, the quietness of the night filled the emptiness between them. A bond was formed, the two silently swearing to keep the secret that rested in Prisha’s arms between them.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg prisha #prisha clem brotp #fanfic #nothing is true everything is permitted au

[badacts]

eyes on me (pt.2)

This fic is about Gotham’s revenant problem.

(part one)

Roy Harper is the loudest thing on this island. And right now he’s proving it with a shouted, “Fuck! Jaybird, get in here!”

Jason doesn’t move, or answer. At this point he knows what Roy sounds like when he’s genuinely concerned, and this isn’t it. His point is proven when Roy appears in the doorway holding a tablet aloft. 

“Look at this shit!” he says, torn between being pissed off and delighted. “Your brother is a little bastard.”

“I don’t have a brother,” Jason replies blandly, even though he’s already imagining the awkward reunion between Kori and her ex. Maybe that’s what’s happening on the tablet. The question of how Dick would find them on the island is a niggle that he’ll deal with later.

“He’s destroying my stuff,” Roy says, ignoring Jason entirely in favour of shoving the tablet in his face.

When Jason sees the uniform on the screen, he shoves the tablet right back. “Do those robots have a kill mode?”

On screen, Tim fucking Drake is using his bo staff to fend off Roy’s sentry robots, and the shithead has the nerve to be grinning while he does it.

“Nah,” Roy replies, though he’s giving Jason a serious side-eye, “If you want him dead, you gotta do the honours yourself.”

Jason sighs and stands, 

“You’re not really gonna kill him,” Roy says, with certainty, and then, with less certainty, “Right? Jason. Jason-”

“Call off the robots,” Jason tells him, heading for the beach and shoving his handguns into their holsters as he goes.

*

Tim is standing over one of the robots which hasn’t retreated into its hidden idle mode, mostly because it’s laying in the sand smoking gently. He looks up when Jason breaks out of the tree line to demand, “Did you make these?”

“What do you want?” Jason says instead of answering, and he’s only not got the kid at gunpoint out of some faint vestiges of courtesy, or maybe just residual guilt over what Alfred would say about it.

Tim looks deeply out of place in the light of day in his uniform, never mind on a beach. He collapses his staff down in a smooth movement and says, “Just to talk.”

“They have this thing called phones, you know,” Jason says, and then, “If you’re here to tell me someone’s dead, you could have just called and saved yourself the trip.”

Tim doesn’t react, but it’s the non-reaction that gives him away. He says, “No one’s dead.”

Jason crosses his arms. “Is someone dying?”

“Not the last time I checked,” Tim replies, with the casual morbid humour of someone who has come way too close to dying more than once. That one of those occasions was at Jason’s hands doesn’t seem to bother him: he looks his usual levels of competent, curious, and more than a little uptight. “What happened between you dying and you going into the Lazarus Pit?”

Jason’s ears roar.

For a second he thinks it’s the bubbling madness of the pit, triggered by the mere mention of it. Then he realises he’s more likely to faint than lose it. The shock of it - ‘trigger’ is the right word for it, he thinks.

He’s certain, though, that the only outward sign of all of that is a minor twitch of his shoulders. He says, “Don’t remember.”

Tim watches him for a long moment, irritatingly knowing. Not patient, exactly - that word couldn’t be used to describe any Robin - but unmovable. Like he’d wait all night to win something. 

His gaze darting up and away from Jason feels like a victory until Jason feels the rolling heat from above him. He looks up.

“Is this man bothering you?” Kori asks him, completely without irony. She’s hovering six feet up, her non-Tamaranean clothes smoking faintly.

“Red Robin isn’t big enough to bother me,” Jason tells her, despite knowing that Tim doesn’t give a shit that he’s a shortass. 

“Starfire,” Tim greets politely. “I just needed to speak with Jason.”

“He was just leaving,” Jason says hopefully. 

Roy jogs up the beach towards them. He’s still wearing boardshorts, but has his quiver over his shoulder and his unstrung bow on his back. He moves like a racehorse, hair streaming in the wind. Like Baywatch if you like skinny redheads. Kori seems appreciative, at least.

“You’re still alive,” Roy greets Tim, as though that’s a normal thing to say. Tim seems unbothered, though perhaps a little taken aback by the sight of Arsenal in flip flops. “What brings you to our pleasant shores? You owe me for the RoyBots you broke, by the way.”

Tim mouthes RoyBots like he’s testing the taste of it, and then repeats, “I needed to speak with Jason.” Then he adds, “Then I’m leaving.”

“Babybird has a curfew,” Jason says, and it’s fucking annoying that he sounds more like a teasing brother than a bully. Not that he wants to be a bully, but he also doesn’t want a new brother. Any brothers. 

Friends have always treated him better than family, adopted family included. Case in point: Roy standing on his left and Kori touching down on his right, flanking him without even thinking about it.

Tim, undaunted, looks between them, and then says, “I need your help.”

“With what?” Roy asks, immediately and predictably eager.

“He means mine,” Jason corrects. “Why are you asking about Lazarus Pits, Timothy?”

There aren’t many reasons Tim Drake would fly all this way to talk to Jason. However, there aren’t many other better sources on Lazarus Pits who won’t kill Tim on sight, never mind offer up what they know.

“It’s not the Pit,” Tim says. “It’s more the ‘coming back from the dead’ thing.”

“Can’t help you,” Jason replies immediately. “I don’t remember anything between a bomb and a dunk in that nasty magic water.” He’s lying.

Tim huffs a little. Then he pulls a phone from his pocket and tosses it underarm to Jason, who snatches it from the air before either of the others can destroy it in his defence. They’re already looking mighty twitchy.

There’s a photo pulled up on the screen. It’s vaguely flash-damaged, rain drops wrecking the quality, and it takes Jason a moment to understand what he’s seeing. When it clicks, his stomach rolls. He tastes earth and blood, chest crushing in on itself for a protracted moment until he looks away.

“Grave robbers in Gotham?” Jason attempts, but his voice rasps out tellingly. He throws the phone back, overarm.

Tim still catches it. “You were less of a one-off than previously thought.”

“I’m not the first one to have an unlikely recovery.” Superman, Green Arrow...

“No,” Tim agrees, “But not like this.”

If there’s one thing Jason knows about Red Robin, it’s that he doesn’t make leaps of logic without proof. He asks, “So, what is it you want from me, exactly?”

“Come back with me,” Tim says immediately. “I could use another pair of eyes on this.”

“No,” Jason replies. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m done with that city.”

“So the plan is just to stay here? Forever?” Tim sounds pretty judgemental, considering ‘here’ is a tropical paradise.

“The plan is to not go back to Gotham,” Jason corrects. “There’s still the rest of the world.” He’s not too taken with the rest of the world either right now, but he figures that will change sooner or later. He got the whirlwind tour of the shittiest parts under Talia’s tutelage, but he might go to Italy and hit up some museums, maybe eat some gelato. 

“You’re not a little curious?” Tim asks. “Some kid climbs out of his own grave in the same cemetery you were buried in and wanders into a traffic accident that somehow also doesn’t kill him, and you want to sit on the beach and eat coconuts?”

There’s a long silence. Then Jason asks, “The same cemetery?” Because it’s not like the kid mentioned that little tidbit before. 

“Maybe you’re done with Gotham,” Roy says. Apparently he can be quiet, because his voice now is on the wrong side of gentle. “But it sounds kinda like Gotham isn’t done with you just yet, Jay.”

“Trust me. I wouldn’t be here for anything that wasn’t immediately applicable to you, or that you wouldn’t be useful for,” Tim adds. “Gotham doesn’t need any more duffel bags of heads.”

To his credit, he sounds neither smugly superior nor disturbed, just matter-of-fact. Jason can almost respect that. Sort of.

Also, now that the impassioned need to shoot Batman in the face is fading, he has questions that his memories - vague, blood-stained, smelling like earth and dew and rain and terror - definitely can’t answer, starting in that cemetery.

“Fine,” he says at last. “You have a week.” After that, he’ll be outside the city limits like someone lit his ass on fire. 

“I brought the batplane,” Tim volunteers. Apparently when he gets what he wants, he turns into a fucking people-pleasing puppy. 

“Great,” Jason says. “I’m driving.” 

#my fic #batman #rhato #red hood #red robin #dc #batfam #eyes on me #now don't lose faith (just keep your eyes on me)

[felicityfiction]

[bulletproof glass part 2] part 1

jung yunho.

see, san and yunho are not strangers. at least, not to san.

choi san knows that jung yunho is in the same position as him. well, nearly

he’s not anyone important, a mere subordinate to a leader named kim hongjoong. according to what intelligence they have on hongjoong, jung yunho is something of a brother. but not being blood related, he has no chance of succeeding him as leader.

here’s another tidbit of information. jung yunho is what choi san would consider a coward. he cries too easily, hurts too openly and loves far, far too many. most of all, he hesitates to kill. not even a human, just a fly. jung yunho is a fish out of water in the realm of the mafias.

so actually, he’s nothing like san. san, who feels at home with a pistol in his bedside drawer, a dagger under his pillow, and a burning desire to cause pain and agony.

if choi san was bulletproof, then jung yunho was glass.

when choi san sees jung yunho for the second time in his life, he’s standing at his father’s side, facing down hongjoong,who looks far too pleased with himself.

“our territory, choi. you’re intruding. we still have rules here, you know.”

san doesn’t like that they’re meeting in hongjoong’s territory. his father’s choice of guard was sparse. himself, seonghwa and eden. of course, there was an armoured vehicle waiting five feet from where they stood, but in a gunfight, five feet was impossible to cross. san’s arrogance is hereditary.

but still, choi san is not afraid. he’s alert, aware of the five guards behind hongjoong, each armed with hand guns and knives. they stand ramrod straight behind their leader, eyes darting left and right, as if san’s father could pull an army of assassins out of thin air to unleash upon them. san smirks. newbies

he could take them down blindfolded with one hand.

“a small mistake, kim. our runner went off course. please, accept my sincere apologies. i guarantee it will not happen again.” sarcasm drips from san’s father’s words, and san finds himself amused. “we brought replacement goods. i’m sure you’ll find them up to standard.” he snaps his fingers and san moves towards hongjoong.

all at once, there are five guns trained on him, and he laughs. “relax, boys. i won’t touch your leader.” not here, anyway.

he drops the box a few meters from hongjoong’s feet with a mock bow. he sees the leader’s eyebrows raise in amusement, and san thinks that perhaps him and hongjoong could get along in another universe. “this one has some bite, choi.”

san retreats back to his father’s side, satisfied that he captured the attention of hongjoong. of course, you’d have to be blind not to be at least intrigued by choi san.

“of course. he’s mine.”

that’s unexpected. san’s identity usually wasn’t revealed unless absolutely necessary. you know, to prevent the target on his back from growing bigger. evidently, san’s father doesn’t think that hongjoong poses any real threat. san begs to differ, because he sees something in hongjoong’s eyes sharpen.

“don’t be a fool, kim.” the warning is glaring. the closest san has gotten to paternal affection in his lifetime were the times that his father warded off threats to his life. how fun.

“never, choi. i wouldn’t underestimate yours.”

san’s father clicks his tongue, and turns on his heels. “the songs, they could be out to get us next. i heard the leader just died, and new one is fiesty, doesn’t know how to respect the order. might need to put out a little warning. i’ll be in touch.”

“see you around, choi.”

san’s father halts in his steps, a grin slinking onto his face. “by the way, kim. i thought your little brother preferred to stay indoors, away from any potential violence? why, he looks rather comfortable out here with a gun in his hands, don’t you think? might consider training him.”

immediately, hongjoong’s voice becomes harsher. “he’ll do what he wants, choi. i don’t need your opinions.”

san, still facing him, sees the man directly behind hongjoong stiffen at his father’s words. bingo

“of course, of course. it’s just that he’s rather precious, isn’t he?” san’s father taps his heel against the floor as a form of goodbye, and strolls out of the warehouse with eden trailing behind him.

san thinks that there’s nothing hongjoong would like more than to put a bullet in his father’s back. the thought cracks him up.

he does a once over of the man behind hongjoong. he’s quite a bit taller than san, and he looks like if he worked out a bit more, he could be intimidating. but of course, his face was his downfall. he had eyes that were much too big to look intimidating, and perhaps the softest facial features san had ever seen in his life. he fidgets in his place, eyes downcast.

“bet you can’t wait for your old man to kick the bucket so you can gain power, huh?”

san laughs, a light tinkling laugh that seonghwa has learned to mean imminent danger. “i don’t need him to be dead to take power, hongjoong.” the leader’s first name rolls off his tongue smoothly, pulling hongjoong down and forcing him to see san as an equal. the man behind hongjoong looks up, and san winks.

jung yunho visibly pales, and san’s decided he’s had enough fun for tonight.

he stalks off after his father with a wave, pleased that he’s made an impression on the kim leader that was not to be forgotten.

in the car, seonghwa looks troubled, glancing at san several times while fisting his hands in his shirt.

“what now?” san can’t be bothered with any of seonghwa’s nagginess today. it’s probably something to do with maintaining amicable relations and knowing his place, blahblah. if anything, san just earned hongjoong’s respect.

“nothing.” any other time, san would pry, because he could. but today, he takes seonghwa’s flimsy excuse and relaxs into his seat.

the first time choi san sees jung yunho, he’s sixteen, and been permitted to sit in on meetings with his father for the first time.

hongjoong has come to declare himself the new leader of his group, as per tradition. san’s father accepts, because he’s really not that interested in the kims territory, seeing as it’s much smaller than their own.

san barely notices the boy behind hongjoong who shakes in his shoes. he does notice when hongjoong reaches out a hand to rest it on the boy’s shoulder. a form of comfort, san muses.

weakness.

san is sure this boy would be the downfall of kim hongjoong. but then hongjoong is gone after signing some contracts that continue their fragile alliance, taking the boy out of the room and out of san’s mind.

he learns the boy’s name.

“kim hongjoong has an achilles’ heel, i see.” twirling a cigarette between his fingers, san’s father looks thoughtfully at his advisor. “who is that?”

“jung yunho, sir. a childhood friend. perhaps a brother,of sorts. nothing to be worried about.”

“oh, i’m the opposite of worried. he’s leverage. might come in handy one day, who knows?”

jung yunho. the name means nothing to san.

the third time san sees jung yunho, it’s at his favourite cafe.

the boy is sipping a pink smoothie, eyes focused on a laptop in front of him, fingers flying over the keyboard.

san wonders why he remembers him so easily.

he looks young. far too pure for what san knows he’s involved in. he looks much more at ease among the normal population, dressed in a hoodie emblazoned with the insignia of seoul university.

a student. how peculiar, seeing as there’s really no need for him to be worried about finding a job.

if san didn’t know better, he’d think that yunho looked rather cute.

“hello.”

mental note 1: jung yunho startles easily. the smoothie nearly topples over onto his laptop, and he fumbles around to straighten the cup.

“don’t look so scared. i’m not here to do anything.” san spreads his hands in a gesture of peace, disregarding the dagger hidden in his boot, of course.

“what do you want?”

mental note 2: jung yunho tries very hard to be scary.

“nothing. just thought i’d come and chat.”

“like we have anything to chat about.” yunho’s posture becomes guarded, and he has a hand wrapped around his phone, ready to dial for someone to come get him in case san attacked him. which was a ridiculous notion, because they were in public, and san would prefer not to get banned from this cafe. they have very good coffee.

“you’re rather interesting, jung yunho.” san drops his voice to a whisper, leaning in closer across the table as yunho shrinks back, eyes wide. “a member of the korean mafia and the seoul university basketball team, i see. odd combination, wouldn’t you think?”

yunho shuts his eyes momentarily, and opens them to find san’s blazing irises staring directly into his. he feels vulnerable, like choi san was trespassing into his soul. “i don’t think that’s really any of your business. go away.”

san leans back, bringing his coffee to his lips. how cute, he can’t curse.

“i’m choi san. i think we’ll be seeing each other around, darling.” san leaves yunho gaping after him, his grip on his phone now slack, but his heart is beating erratically fast.

seonghwa is waiting outside the cafe, and once again, worry graces his friend’s features.

“who-“

“seonghwa, you’re going to age prematurely if you keep frowning like that. there’s nothing to worry about.”

“why were you fraternising with kim hongjoong’s brother?”

san chuckles. seonghwa was always so dramatic. “i wasn’t fraternising. i was being friendly. we’ll probably be meeting more often, and it’s nice to have a few familiar faces, don’t you think?”

“like you would be friendly, choi san.”

“you wound me.” san tosses his car keys at seonghwa and clambers into the backseat of his car. “don’t think i didn’t notice, seonghwa. you seem like you know kim hongjoong, more than my father does.”

seonghwa has to swallow his shock, but san sees the tightening of his grip on the steering wheel. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“sure, seonghwa. i believe you. i always do.”

san chews on his straw, and unknowingly makes another mental note.

he wants to see jung yunho again.

the first time seonghwa sees jung yunho, it’s a photo on a tablet, five days before they meet hongjoong in the warehouse.

“of course, you can’t tell him yet. we’re still trying to decide the method. that’d break the rules.” seonghwa nods his understanding, but his heartbeat pounds in his ears.

he’s san’s initiation. hongjoong can’t hurt us over him, not unless he wants a war that he can’t win.

#ateez yunho #ateez #fanfic #kpop #ateez san #ateez seonghwa #ateez hongjoong #yunsan #mafia au

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Cursed G Pt 14 (Gilgamesh, Hakuno, Emiya)

Previous Part: One - HakuPOV / GilPOV, 

Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten,

 Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen

_____

He’d been in a car before.

Multiple times, in fact; he’d been strapped in his backpack in the passenger seat and had ridden with her to and from school. He knew what the car was like.

So there was no reason why she needed to be dealing with this.

“WOMAN! YOU ARE GOING TO SEND THIS WAGON INTO THE ONE BEFORE IT! WERE YOU DROPPED AS A CHILD?!”

She scowled at him.

“WOMAN,” he hollered as they came to a red light. “WHY ARE YOU STOPPING?!”

“It’s red.”

“The sign was red before! As was the building! Are we stopping because of a color?!”

Yes. They were.

And she wasn’t going to listen to him gripe about her driving skills for the entire trip across the city to where the stores were. She turned at the first green logo for the coffee shop and pulled around to the drive thru.

“What are we doing? Is this how you find seamstresses?”

“We’re making a quick stop.”

Gilgamesh went to open the door.

“We’re supposed to stay in the car here,” she told him. “Don’t get out.”

The man just stared at her.

In fact, when she insisted, he shook his head and crossed his arms, waiting for when he could finally do something of value. When the voice came over the intercom, Hakuno found him leaning onto her lap, watching the screen light up and recite their order.

“How did they-“

“Gil, I need to drive.”

He moved back into his seat, frowning as they drove around.

In fact, that scowl seemed permanently in place as she handed him his own coffee and sucked happily on her own. This time, as they headed for the store, she was blessed to listening to the sound of the motor. The complaints had mellowed to the rogue comment being given here or there.

The coffees were completely gone from the two of them drinking on the way to the mall.

“Your seamstresses live in a palace?”

For once, it seemed he was fascinated. She couldn’t blame him either. Compared to the rather boring looking homes that were in her area, the large and columned mall area looked far more grandiose. It was far more impressive.

Hakuno tossed their empty cups into the trash nearby, shaking her head. “It’s just a collection of merchants that sell clothing. No one goes to seamstresses anymore.”

“Unfortunate.”

“What do you mean?”

“The fact that your merchants have taken the noble work of seamstresses away is nothing less than disappointing, Hakuno. It’s the destruction of the hardwork and efforts of elders.”

“We put elders in retirement homes or have relatives take care of them. They don’t really make clothes for anyone.” Well, not as far as she knew. She wasn’t a great authority on that.

“So your elders rot and become useless?”

“They are old.”

The man shook his head, stalking ahead.

“Let us see these wares of theirs then, Hakuno. Although I doubt they can compare to the honest work of a citizen, we’ll see what they can manage.”

“Holdl on! There’s something I should warn you about!”

The man stopped.

Thank goodness he did. The man was much stronger and more able-bodied than her. She had to hold his arm and breathe a moment before continuing with her warning.

“About the mall, if there’s anything that you find that you like, you should let me know. I have some money saved and-“

“This way.”

She blinked, finding her hand taken into his hand and the man pulling her along.

Her sweatpants and tshirt clad companion, dressed more fitting for the gym than for meandering, dragged her through everything.

Everything.

“Hakuno! Look at this!”

She glanced at his first choice, preparing to warn him that his choice was a bit… gawdy, but the man moved closer.

“Look at how meager this is! You’ve brought me to a mockery of a fabric place.”

He’d walked her here.

The man didn’t even stop there. He continued looking around and bringing her more clothing to mock and ridicule.

“Hakuno, can you believe how poorly their beasts survive in this time? To make fur this poor.”

“Hakuno!” He said again, not even a half second later. “Is that from the beasts of the West? Look at the black and white stripes. To think your people slaughter them so eagerly. The sheer greed.”

Was this what hell felt like?

“Hakuno!”

The man stopped at a white jacket, holding it up and making her sigh loudly.

“Hmm? Speak up, woman.” He pulled the jacket on, adjusting the sleeves. “Is something amiss about this beast?”

Other than being fake fur…

She wisely shook her head, earning a shrug before the man was heading towards another corner of the store.

“Gilgamesh!”

Hakuno hurried after him before he could walk out of the place.

“Gil! I have to pay for that!”

“Hmm?” He raised a brow at her.

“The coat! And your other things. I have to pay for those.”

“Why?”

Why?

Gilgamesh motioned to the sales associates fixing displays or ringing up customers. “They have neither greeted us nor shown any interest in haggling, Hakuno. Why would we assume prices and payment when they show no pride nor interest in their own wares? I have deemed these mine since they have failed to do so for themselves.”

“There’s tags on it with prices.”

He laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Merchants have always placed their prices upon their wares as a means for beginning bartering. It is their own fault that they show no pride.”

“Gil, I really don’t want to be arrested. Give me the items for about five minutes and they’re yours. We’ll even get a bag for them.”

He eyed her a moment, but that smirk of his just grew.

“You want these?” He asked.

Frankly, she didn’t.

She’d have rather just gotten him some shirts and pants from somewhere and dragged his ass home, but since he was going to hold those shirts and sport that absurdly white fur coat…

“I would like them for a minute.”

He moved closer, looming over her.

“We are in a place of bartering. I’m in the mood to enjoy a good haggling.”

He was really going to make this whole process that much more difficult?

“What will you give me if I permit you to take and purchase these on my behalf with the negligent workers?”

Freedom from prison was a nice thought. Freedom from being possibly harassed and tortured for being a complete stranger to this land with no identification or knowledge of this time. Freedom from being incarcerated in an asylum for being absolutely delusional about his identity…

He just waited, smirking in that damn fluffy coat.

“What would you have me give?”

“That’s not how bartering works, Hakuno.”

He really wasn’t going to let her get away with this, was he?

Already though, she could see a couple security guards heading towards the store they were in. If she didn’t think of something soon, then they were going to look entirely suspicious. They would not handle the police well. She could already sense that the cops and Gilgamesh would be a bad combination.

She moved forward as that train of thought sped through her mind. Her hands grabbed Gilgamesh’s shirt, pulling him in close.

Her lips pressed against his, the surprise hitting both of them at the same time. The man’s choices dropped from his hands as she felt that magic from before between them. His hands delved into her hair and-

“That is a poor manner of haggling…”

The man pulled back, pulling the coat off and tossing it into her arms.

Was that victory?

It took a second to realize he was releasing her to complete the transaction. By the time she was done, he was already preparing to drag her to the next store.

She waited him out, stopping him near the exits when he was done.

Five more stores.

Five more collections of bags for her to carry as he walked them through the mall area. He took in the sights of the fountains and the domed ceiling over it, watching the skylights and the multitude of jets that came forth.

She followed closely behind him, watching the man look at a kingdom entirely foreign to his own.

The further they went, the more he seemed to be lost.

There was no other word for it. He walked to the fountains, growing quiet as he watched the various jets splashing forth. He watched families go to and fro from one store to another, studying how they spoke to one another… or perhaps what they spoke of. He paused to watch children playing in a kids’ play area, racing one another around.

“Gil-“

He blinked, pausing.

“It’s ah, not wise to go play with them.”

The man sniffed a bit, lifting his chin. “Are you concerned about them playing with someone who has blood on their hands?”

Her gaze flickered to his hands a moment before she shook her head. “Parents these days call for…” what was a good equivalent for police? “…Soldiers. They call for soldiers if anyone comes near their children. It’s not safe to have strangers near your children.”

The man wrinkled his nose, heading away.

It took a second to realize he was leaving her there.

“Your world is without morals, Hakuno,” the man complained.

It was.

Still, she found herself moving to his side and watching him carefully. “Did you used to play with the children in Uruk?”

“They’re my people. My citizens were more than happy to allow me the privilege of spending time with their children. It was humbling and it taught the children to respect my authority.” Those red eyes glanced her way. “To think that your land’s king lacks the sense to allow himself to intermingle with his own people, instead locking himself in the gods only know where-“

“We don’t have a king.”

“Then I pity you more,” he complained. “Yet, it is all the more reason for you to return to Uruk with me. You will suit the kingdom better than being here.”

“I have responsibilities here.”

He wasn’t listening though. The moment she spoke, she could already see that his attention was going elsewhere.

Her eyes followed his gaze, her blood running cold at the sight of the place.

“Gil-“

“Come with me, Hakuno.”

Her feet dragged.

All the way into the store, her feet dragged.

“You have shown me that these places have sizes.” He told her. “What is yours?”

She groaned.

But that was nothing, he merely demanded his answer of her and meandered off, finding a sales associate and pointing at the things he wanted.

There would be an endless bill for this. By the time all of this was said and done, she would curse each and every second she had to wonder about how to pay this credit debt. But the man had his treasure trove of lingerie.

“I have no reason to wear that.”

The man just held his bags and smirked her way.

“This is far less exciting without the haggling. Come, Hakuno. Your so called coffee has run its course.”

“We still need shoes for you.”

She hated every second of the shoe store.

“Gil, those are not meant for this weather,” she complained as he eyed a pair of women’s boots.

“The leather is far better quality than those treated colorful mockeries over there,” he told her, running his hands over the leather of the women’s boots.

She needed a nap.

He settled on some shoes. She didn’t even look at the price as she handed her card to the cashier.

And then they were free.

The bags were tossed into the back of the car a moment before she found Gilgamesh trying to climb into the front of the vehicle.

“…What are you doing?”

“I’ll steer your mount.”

“We would both be taken in by the soldiers if we did that.”

He rolled his eyes, frowning at the small space as he tried to slip into her seat.

“It’s too small,” he noted.

“It’s meant for me.”

“That makes this far less entertaining.” He was back out though, walking around the car.

She would neglect to mention that the seats adjusted, since he was seeming to hold interest in driving without a license.

They moved through the city streets as the sun drifted over towards the horizon, her stomach growling as they pulled into her driveway.

“Hakuno,” Gilgamesh stared up towards her doorway. “Your pest is here again.”

Pest?

She didn’t even need to ask. The moment that the thought came, she saw the head of white hair. The red jacket and bag over his shoulder made it apparent who her guest was.

“What is he doing here?”

She couldn’t let him in. She was supposed to own a cat.

“Just wait her a moment,” Hakuno started to tell him, but Gilgamesh was already climbing out of the car.

“Well, look what we have here,” Gilgamesh observed, voice carrying like he had a damn echo. “What brings you to my woman’s doorstep?”

I’m not your woman, Gil!

Hakuno opened her door and climbed out, forgetting about the purchases in order to stop the madness that would no doubt ensue with Gilgamesh and Emiya.

#drabble #drabbles

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Beautiful Cruel World [Chapter 2] Only Human [Levi Ackerman]

A knock on the front door woke him from a short nap. Furlan groaned in irritation as he stood; exhaustion once again caught up and put him out at the dinner table instead of his bed. He hated when this happened. It meant that he was working too hard.

As he stumbled across the room, his ankles and back popped in sudden protest. He scratched his stomach and tore open the door but no one was there. The sun was barely up yet; the oil lamps were burned down and barely visible. Furlan thought it may have been his imagination – the kind exhaustion sometimes played on people – but just as he was about to turn and go back inside, his eyes caught sight of something.

There was a note stuck to the door, addressed to Levi. Furlan quickly snatched it down and moved inside.

“Who was at the door?”

Furlan glanced at Levi with a look of surprise. Of course he was awake; he never seemed to sleep more than two hours a night and each time he arose looking just as rested as Isabel did when she got more than nine hours. He envied his friend for this. No telling how much he could get done if only two hours were enough to rejuvenate him.

“No telling,” the blond said with a yawn. He waved the letter in the air out in front of himself. “But they stuck this on the door. It’s addressed to you.”

Levi puckered a brow. A letter for him? Who could it be from? Usually clients went to Furlan before going to him – he wasn’t much of a conversationalist like Furlan was.

Taking the letter from him, Levi began to read it. A groan of irritation left him – he honestly didn’t need this kind of shit today.

“Whose it from?”

Furlan was merely curious. He never expected to get an answer, but to his surprise, the letter was handed back to him.

Camilla!? Furlan recognized the unique way she wrote. He ignored the dread that filled his stomach and skimmed over the information she felt generous enough to give them.

The letter mentioned that her company had found Selia – the prostitute that Levi said might know where the crates are. Her name was not in the employment books of any brothel in the Underground, on account of her being underaged. That explained why Furlan could not find her. How in the hell did Camilla of all people get this information? He gave up three nights of sleep to find her.

A sigh of annoyance left him. “I swear that woman is pure evil. What I can’t understand is why she’s giving us this information. If she knows where Selia is, then why doesn’t she just go retrieve the crates herself?”

“She wants me to give her that reward I promised,” Levi explained. He was stacking wood to build a fire. The house was rather chilly in the morning; he didn’t mind the cold, but Isabel did.

Furlan couldn’t hide the smile that forced its way across his face. Good thing Levi had his back turned; he wouldn’t have been happy. Seems like someone spoiled her a little too much.

“Guess that explains why she wrote as a afternote that she’d meet you there,” Furlan mentioned.

Levi grunted in annoyance. “That brat is always sticking her damn nose where it doesn’t belong. She’s going to get herself killed if she isn’t careful.”

What did he honestly expect? He taught her to be aware of everything that went down in the city. She was just too greedy to stay out of whatever business was being done.

“I see. You plan to meet with her, don’t you? To be certain she doesn’t get into trouble.”

He didn’t want to – she was capable of taking care of herself – but in light of recent events, Levi knew that keeping Camilla safe was the lesser of two evils. Whoever stole the crates was looking to incite a war; better to have her on his side, rather than against him.

“This business with my past. I never meant for you or Isabel to get involved,” Levi mentioned quietly.

Furlan puckered a brow. “You’re just now telling us? It’s not a problem. Isabel and I will give you time, but sooner or later you’ll have to right your wrongs.”

“Kill her, you mean?”

The blond nodded in agreement. He said nothing else and decided to get some sleep. The letter he tossed in the fire on his way up to the bedrooms.

Levi watched it shrivel up and burn to ashes.

He’s right … and it should be me the one to put her out of her misery.

--

Punctual as always – something he appreciated about his former apprentice; she never kept him waiting.

Levi met with her outside the brothel she mentioned in the letter; a small business on Loveless Avenue known only as Divine. There was a sign outside the door with more written on it, but Levi could not read it due to the words being so worn.

He stood and watched her for a moment in silence. She was alone, open to danger, but he knew that she wasn’t completely unarmed. Her pants were a tad bit too big for her – held up by suspenders that pushed her button down close enough to her skin that he could see the outline of the garment she wore over her breasts.

In her hand was a metal file with a hook on the end that she was using to pick the dirt out from beneath her fingernails with. He knew to be careful around her if ever he got too close.

Once she caught sight of him – Levi was almost certain she was just ignoring him until now – he watched her raise a brow and tuck the file away into her right cuff.

“You got my letter,” she chirped. A smile graced her pretty face. “I would have come in, but I had a feeling I wasn’t welcomed there.”

Levi narrowed his eyes. It was too early for her jokes. “Leading me around is not in your best interest. This had better not be a lie.”

Does he think I have nothing better to do? Camilla rolled her eyes. “My informant can be trusted. All we have to do is ask the right questions and hope she hasn’t spilled to someone else.”

He puckered a brow. “We? I never said you’d be trailing along.”

“Do I have to remind you that I don’t take orders from you? I feel like we have this same conversation every time we meet.”

She crossed her arms beneath her chest and continued. “Show me a little respect, Lee. If not for my informant you and the strays would still be chasing ghosts.”

Realizing how dry this conversation had gotten, Camilla turned and went for the door. She should have known better than to turn her back to Levi – basic fucking rule.

He closed the gap between them and grabbed her arm.

“This isn’t your concern. You said it yourself; you got the money.”

She nodded in agreement. “I did say that, didn’t I? But I also remember you telling me that I could have anything I want. There’s something in those crates that is of interest to you – besides the gas canisters – and I want a piece of it.”

“I have no way of knowing what’s inside those crates, but I can assure you that whoever paid for them will come after you when they find out that you have them. I’m warning you, brat. It’s none of your business,” Levi explained. His grip on her upper arm grew tighter. To hell with her and the attitude she was giving him.

Camilla grunted in pain. Who in the actual fuck did he think he was talking to? She tore her arm from him with enough force that it burned for a brief moment. “Don’t you dare underestimate me. I can damn well take care of myself and the ones I look after. This shit you’re pulling – the concern for my well-being – needs to stop.”

“Walk away; last chance.”

She ignored him and stormed into the brothel. Fuck him! Levi was not in control of her anymore. He had no say-so when it came to how she lived her life – not anymore.

A bell above the door chimed as she stepped into the foyer. It confused her a moment, but once it rang again – to signal another client; this being Levi – she understood what it meant. Her bright eyes shot a look of contempt his way, but she said nothing as he moved to stand beside her.

Her silence did not continue long; not when she became aware of how pitiful the state of the room was in: four walls built of stone but weakened by time, mostly bare. It was like a basement; a foul and musty smelling basement.

“How can anyone stomach this? It’s disgusting.”

Levi narrowed his eyes in concern. Her body visibly shook in discomfort, but he wasn’t sure for what reason. The best he could offer her was the truth in terms of his opinion.

“Humans are disgusting; don’t think too much into it. The world is cruel and nothing is ever going to change.”

She snorted in anguish and opened her mouth to respond, but a heavy door opened across from them and a woman emerged from a softly lit room. A puzzled look crossed her cute face, but she masked it with a fake smile.  

“Welcome … can I be of assistance? My name is Tilly.”

Camilla nodded in agreement. “We want to rent a room. One of your girls is of interest to us.”

“Jointly? It’s not uncommon for couples to come in here and share a girl, but the rates are a bit higher,” the woman explained. She curled her arms beneath her chest and glanced between the two. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Not uncommon? Camilla felt annoyed by this. People in the Underground would do anything for money, and those with money wasted it on useless things. If not for her own personal gain, she wouldn’t be here, wasting her money on this.

“It’s not a problem. I’m merely here to observe,” she stated.

The painted woman smiled. “Wonderful. Some spice to liven up the woes of marriage. Tell me … what kind of girl are you looking for?”

“Young; pretty. He likes them obedient.”

Levi shot her a look of content, but she ignored it. He knew that she didn’t like this sort of thing; prostitution. Her jokes were a way of easing the pain she felt.

“We have a few girls who fit those conditions,” Tilly stated. “If you like, I can have them line up and let your husband take his pick.”

He cut in on their conversation before Camilla said something to make him mad. “Her name is Selia; the girl we’re here to see.”

“Selia? I’m afraid you have been misled. There is no one here by that name.”

A liar among many other things. The brunette snorted in annoyance. “We’re prepared to match whatever rate you offer. She’s not a very well-kept secret if you rent her out to the MPs as a means to keep them quiet. I’m almost willing to bet she’s not the youngest here.”

Levi widened his eyes. How did she know the MPs were involved? Just how far had her roots spread? He didn’t know as much about Camilla as he thought. And from the looks of it – by how stunned the greeter was – her information was spot on.

“Just … just let me see if she’s available.”

The uneasy woman bobbed her head and fled into the room behind the heavy door. It locked behind her.

“How did you know about the MPs? Are you in league with them too, brat?”

For her sake, she better hope not.

“And what if I am? Are you going to slap me on the hand and tell me I’ve been a bad girl?”

Levi shot her a look of resentment. He really was not playing with her – she backed down.

“It was a rumor I heard,” she explained with a sigh. His anger was not something to tread on. “Drunk soldiers have loose lips; the ones in the MP brigade do anyway.”

A rumor; she bet her money on a rumor? That wasn’t like her. Levi wondered if she was desperate. He sighed deeply. “Know your facts before you charge head first into a situation like this. You could have fucked it up for the both of us.”

She opted not to say anything. His advice was not to be taken lightly. She learned that the hard way, once upon a time ago. A dead silence fell over them until Tilly returned. She had a smile on her face that screamed trouble.

Insisting that the rates were much higher than first posed, she took all the money that the brunette had on her.

Camilla was only able to pay for 20 minutes alone with Selia. This was fine, but a part of her was angry for being conned so easily. She had to remember that this was the only way to see the girl – besides to have her kidnapped. It was a steep price to pay, but one worth the hassle.

She and Levi followed the woman into a private room beyond the heavy door in the foyer. The inside was just as bare – a small bed with red sheets was the only exception; it laid against the far wall as a reminder to what could have been.

Pity; this was how she felt. The girls who worked here deserved much better.

They were left to get comfortable as the greeter went to get Selia – due to the nature of the room they settled on standing. The girl was the only one to return.  

She wore a dress with a blue front laced corset over top. The fabric moved against her slender legs as she came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Her stomach churned with unease. Her clients were a couple, Tilly informed her, but only the short male was going to handle her. She gave her full attention to him, even though the brunette was watching her in interest.    

“How may I service you, sir?”

Levi narrowed his eyes. He had no intention of playing this out. “We’re not here for that; we’re here to ask you some questions.”

“I … don’t understand.” Selia was confused. No one ever wanted to just speak with her.

Camilla stepped forward. “Did you know Finn Wagner? He was a client of mine for a short amount of time.”

“He was my father,” Selia mentioned quietly. Her eyes narrowed and moved to the floor.

The brunette curled up her nose. What kind of father would allow his daughter to work as a prostitute? He obviously had been using her to pay off his debt.

“How much does he owe you?”

This pretty much proved her assumption; he was using her. Camilla even bet that he guilted her into this kind of work. She waved her hand to dismiss the question.

“He doesn’t owe me anything. However, the last time I saw him, Finn mentioned you by name. He said that something was left with you; we came here to collect it.”

Selia brought up her hand and placed it on her chest. “He said you would come. I assume you work for Stefan then?”

Stefan? Levi wondered if he was the other ODM gear user. He’d have to be; no one else in the city would be interested in those crates.

Before anything could be said to ruin their chances, he shook his head in agreement. Camilla shot him a look of contempt, but Levi did not care.

“I was asked to pass along a key to Stefan or whomever he sent from MOCKINGBIRD.” She retrieved a bronze key and handed it over to Levi. “My father owns a box at the storehouse; number 13. What you are looking for should be there.”

Camilla faked a smile. “Thank you for helping us. Both you and Flinn have done us a great favor.”

“Have you seen him? My father, I mean. He usually comes by to check up on me but I’ve not seen nor heard from him in weeks.”

She lied and shook her head. “Can’t say I have. Might do you some good to get out of this business though. It’s no place for children.”

Selia bowed her head in shame. “I know, but you don’t understand how rough it is. You don’t see what my father and I ha––

A loud smack echoed around the room. Camilla drew back her arm and glared at the ignorant girl. “Don’t speak to me about how rough life is. I know all about it. Life sucks, but I sure as hell don’t make excuses.”

Frightened tears poured down her flustered cheeks. Selia covered her mouth but her loud sobs broke free.

It bothered Camilla to no end. She bent down and brushed back Selia’s hair. “You are a pretty face … but there is a hell of a lot more to you then that. Take my advice and get out of here before it’s too late.”

She then stormed out of the room with Levi not far behind. He stood at a distance from her as she leaned against the wall outside the brothel.

“You have something to say, don’t you? I want to hear it.”

Levi had a lot to ask her. Why she neglected to tell Selia about what happened to her father? What she was going to do with the information she just learned? He wanted to know, but he figured his questions could wait.

“It’s not important,” he retorted. Moving passed her, Levi began to head back towards the house he was staying at with Isabel and Farlan. “Later we’re going to retrieve the crates. Bring whoever to help you carry them back.”

Camilla snorted. There he goes, telling me what to do again. She pushed off the wall and headed in the opposite direction. She craved a bath. Being in that place made her feel gross; it always did.

A lone tear fell down her cheek.  

#aot #levi ackerman #furlan church #isabel magnolia #no regerts #manga